The Spy Who Came In From The Rain
by Darkfangz13
Summary: Sequel to 'For Queen and Country'. The immediate threat on Mycroft's life has been temporarily terminated, but the case isn't over yet. Now Lestrade is in danger. With Sherlock and John safe outside of the country, how will Mycroft handle the situation?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Mycroft sighed in relief as he let himself sink into the familiarity of his surroundings. He expertly keyed in his new security code and unlocked his front door.

Nothing out of place, not even a speck of dust on the floor.

It was slightly unnerving, really, the efficiency with which his operatives worked. His apartment had been trashed a good deal during Lestrade's rescue. He'd know, he read the reports-... and seen the pictures-... and watched the CCTV footage.

But now, all was as it should be. The shattered glass coffee table in his lounge was replaced by one exactly like it, his China sat proudly in their place like Lestrade hadn't been thrown head-long into them just two nights before. And-... my, my, even his antique vase had a twin.

After shrugging out of his overcoat and hanging it up, Mycroft carefully set down his umbrella across the desk in his study and moved to the bathroom to shower. He stepped quietly into the bathroom, took one steady look at the ivory tub that he had nearly drowned in, and thought that, maybe his shower could wait until after he finished sweeping his house for bugs or checking for anything out of place...

He shook his head, mentally scolding himself. _Foolish. _He thought, if he spent all his days skirting the bathroom because of one trivial incident, he'd never get clean.

That option was simply not tolerable.

He shrugged himself out of his suit jacket and folded it over the closed toilet-seat, his vest following obediently. He was in the process of removing his dress shirt's cufflinks when his cell buzzed from where he left it by the sink.

He shuffled out of his shirt and picked it up.

"Good evening." Mycroft greeted, years of mistrust and a slight case of PTSD prevented him from dropping any names before knowing who was listening on the other end of the call.

_"It's me."_ Mycroft resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the cryptic response, he knew, for a fact, that more than half of the Secret Intelligence referred to themselves as such.

"Ah, yes, what is it?" Mycroft inquired, he knew the voice on the other end. It belonged to a seasoned MI-5 field agent named Jan Hoover.

He was also informed that Jan Hoover was the man who had run the operation to track down Mycroft's would-be killer. _"I just finished interrogating him." _No clarifying who 'him' referred to, Hoover, like Mycroft, was very strict about potential leaks. _"I haven't gotten anything concrete out of him, but we know that he's not working alone."_

Mycroft grimaced. He wasn't a naive man, by any stretch of imagination. He knew how these cases could drag out, uncooperative informants, red herrings, false information, the list goes infinitely on. Mycroft imagined himself with the prisoner in MI-5's holding cell teetering on the tip of a very, very large iceberg.

He might well be working for an entire organization, and if he was intent on having Mycroft's life, he might well get it if he wasn't careful.

_"I have a few agents preparing a safe house, just as a precaution."_ Hoover continued, following Mycroft's line of thought.

Mycroft frowned, not very keen on the idea of temporarily living in a strange house. "I'm not sure those lengths are warrented..."

Hoover cut him off, tutting. _"Better than being caught with your pants down, yeah?" _This said to a currently half-naked man. Mycroft chuckled to himself at the irony.

"If you say so." He responded coolly.

Hoover grunted on the other end. _"We'll have a few words when we see each other, then?"_

"We shall." Mycroft agreed and hung up.

He sat on the rim of his ivory tub and stared at the door leading into the hall. "Damn." he expelled and frowned.

If there was a chance that someone was coming after Mycroft, there would probably be someone coming after Sherlock. He'd place a call after his shower.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"No." Sherlock spat irrately, turning to face the window just as Lestrade coyly poked his head through the door.

"Sherlock, please be sensible about this!" John groaned, rubbing his temples in exasperation.

Sherlock ignored him and continued to stroke his violin strings to one of Mendelssohn's tunes. "How long's he been at it?" Lestrade asked, leaning against the doorframe.

John covered his ears with a sound of utter anguish. "Since Bach... at about three in the morning..." he said vehemently, "..._yesterday_!" Lestrade chuckled and patted John's shoulder sympathetically. "I tried to get him to stop before any of the neighbors complained, but I think we're miles past that point."

"Well," Lestrade said to Sherlock, who still refused to turn away from the window. "I was going to ask for your help on a case, but if you're too busy..." Lestrade half-turned his body toward the door and cocked his head, threatening to leave.

"Stay right where you are, Lestrade." Sherlock growled, finally finishing his piece of musical torture with a grand flourish and turning to face the room. "I think I can manage to multi-task." He smirked at John.

"'Multi-task'...? No, Sherlock, I draw the line at playing violin at crime scenes!" John exclaimed, jumping up from his seat on the couch.

"The case, I'm guessing the serial ancient artifact thefts that have been plaguing the papers since Wednesday?" Sherlock murmured, ignoring John.

"The same." Lestrade admitted.

"Too obvious." Sherlock groaned, collapsing bonelessly into his seat. "Your investigation is stuck because all your suspects have rock solid alibis, if you'd care to just think outside the box once in a while, you'd see a pattern of lies." He placed his violin aside and clutched the Union Flag cushion to his chest. "The first fake alibi was given by the janitor, placing him with the stolen artifact's care-taker. They were supposedly in each other's company, outside smoking, when the theft occured. The second fake alibi placed the lecturer with the museum's CEO for afternoon tea, again, nobody to suspect for theft."

"But what about the security guard and the curator?" Lestrade asked.

"Why Lestrade!" Sherlock sent him the same patient look a parent would bestow on an exceptionally dull child. "_You_ were the security guard's alibi, you were interrogating him while the third arifact went missing."

"And the curator?" Lestrade sighed.

"Stole the third artifact." Sherlock responded. "That's why he had to turn up dead the next morning. Scapegoat."

"Okay..." Lestrade shifted from one foot to the other. "So, who killed the curator?"

"The security guard." Sherlock replied. "You could easily speculate that a suspect could lie to you in his statements about where he was and when, but you wouldn't suspect someone who was in police custody when the theft occurred. Simple psychology, you thought the murderer was the same person as the thief and that the curator was simply silenced for being an unfortunate witness."

"Then who...?" Lestrade wondered aloud.

"You wern't exactly wrong, Lestrade." Sherlock told him, cutting him off. "Think! Why would the janitor fake an alibi for himself and the care-taker? Why would the lecturer fake an alibi for himself and the CEO?"

"And why didn't the curator find himself a fake alibi?" Lestrade added.

"Couldn't, Lestrade," Sherlock smirked indulgently at the DI. "_couldn't_."

"What does that mean?" John asked curiously.

"The first theft was carried out by the janitor and the care-taker, the second by the lecturer and the CEO, the third was to be the security guard and the curator..."

"...But I had the security guard in for questioning." Lestrade finished his sentence.

"The curator carried out the theft alone but had no alibi, and suddenly, one of the other accomplices has an epiphany! 'I know! We'll kill off the curator and blame all the thefts on him!'" Sherlock waved his arms dramatically. "And so, with the thief dead and gone, the police will never know where the artifacts are."

Lestrade blinked at the consulting detective. "You've been investigating this case since before you even knew it was mine, wern't you?"

"I was bored." Sherlock sniffed sardonically. "And bad telly is _bad_." John rolled his eyes.

"Since when did you start suspecting all six of them of the thefts?" Lestrade asked, narrowing his eyes at Sherlock.

"Since I had a sneak peek at their bank savings. You couldn't scrape a penny out of those accounts." Sherlock sniffed again. "And then, when I dropped by their houses, I noted a few costly pieces of furnishings, namely a rather nice painting, an ancient China teapot, and a golden Egyptian burial flask."

Lestrade groaned. "Sherlock, I keep telling you 'you can't keep witholding evidence'!"

Sherlock reached under the coffee table and whipped out the stolen artifacts in question. "I'm handing them over now, arn't I?"

"And if I didn't come to you for help?" Lestrade couldn't resist asking.

"You?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him. "Not come to me for help? Impossible! You would've never found out about the alibi tricks alone." He sniffed, turning his nose up just an inch. "That's the problem with you Lestrade, you take a witness's statement as gospel."

"Well, they're not supposed to lie!" Lestrade defended himself.

"When humans don't lie... Oh, that'll be the day." Sherlock scoffed back cynically.

"Sherlock," John called out suddenly, interrupting their conversation. "your brother's here."

"Really?" Sherlock looked to the door. "I hadn't noticed."

"You'll only get yourself killed if you're not careful." Mycroft reprimanded him from the doorway.

"Oh, sod off, I'm alive now, arn't I?" Sherlock retorted.

"And your flatmate had to announce that I just showed up on your doorstep." Mycroft pointed out haughtily. "If I was any more blatant in my approach, you'd have to be blind, deaf, and very, very dumb not to notice."

"Oh, your sardonic witticisms never cease!" Sherlock groaned and rolled his eyes.

"Okaay." Lestrade raised his hands in an abortive movement. "I'm just going to get back to the station now." He kept his hands raised on his way out despite the fragile artifacts in his arms and John had to wonder if his hands were raised more for defense against the sheer Holmesian madness that threatened to overpower the atmosphere whenever the two siblings entered a room together.

Not that he could blame him, of course.

"What are you here for, then? And make it quick." Sherlock demanded once the DI had left.

"It's about the recent... incident." Mycroft said, sending John a pointed look.

"I'm gonna-... I'm just going to leave then." John jumped up.

"John, you will do no such thing." Sherlock said in such a tone that froze the doctor in his steps, wondering who to comply with. Sherlock turned to look Mycroft in the eye. "I'm sure that whatever Mycroft wants to say would inevitably concern you as well."

Mycroft shrugged his shoulders. "Well, have it your way." He rested a hip on the armrest of an unoccupied seat. "The investigation hasn't closed yet."

Sherlock dropped his head back onto his headrest and groaned. "Why, why, why! You government agents, you're all incompetent!" he boldly declared. "I hope you're not going to suggest for us to move into one of your safehouses, are you?"

"If that's what needs to be done." Mycroft spoke firmly, in a voice that solicited no arguement.

Sherlock merely picked up his violin again. "No." he disaproved with a very mild-mannered defiance.

"Don't be childish." Mycroft sighed.

"Don't try to rule my life." Sherlock retorted.

"Your flatmate and your landlady could be put into considerable danger, Sherlock, is that something you want to risk?" Mycroft said like he had completely forgotton John's presence in the room.

"If there was any opportune moment to consider disowning me, Mycroft." Sherlock rested his violin snug against his cheek. "This is it."

Mycroft merely raised his eyebrows mildly. "If that's what your choice is..." he sighed mockingly and left the flat.

Sherlock and John would be bundled off to Geneva by Mycroft's men, on a very riveting case involving fingers than didn't belong to the victims, the moment Mycroft left the flat, the plans had already been set.

* * *

><p>"Sorry, yeah, could you get forensics on standby?" Lestrade spoke into his radio. "I've got the artifacts with me, just need to get prints off it and make sure it's the real deal." He pulled up in the New Scotland Yard's parking lot and stepped out of the vehicle.<p>

That was when he heard a sharp _whizz-thuk _and his torso twisted nintey degrees in a jerky motion, all air being knocked out of him before he pitched backward and fell against the hard surface of his car before sliding helplessly to the ground.

What the-...? He gasped a wheezy breath of air into his lungs and tried to move, see what's going on.

He looked down and his blood ran cold. There was a bullet-hole in the breast of his coat. Funny, it didn't hurt. It was just-... sort of numb.

"Oh God-...!" Lestrade choked, feeling himself begin to panic and hyperventilate.

Then the darkness came to claim him.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

It took a moment to register the line of text that blinked out from his cellphone screen. _DI Lestrade shot, being moved to hospital. _Mycroft resisted the urge to drop his face in his hands and groan pathetically.

Only because mysterious and powerful government agents do not drop their faces into their hands and groan. They bite the bullet and get to work.

_Put him under surveilance. Might try to finish off the job. Keep me up-to-date. _Mycroft effortlessly keyed back. Although, he had no need to remind Anthea to keep him in the loop, all his agents would do so without needing to be told. But it was only polite, so he did.

He slipped his phone back into his pocket and leaned his elbows on his knees, entwining his fingers contemplatively. Sherlock would kill him if DI Lestrade died, that much was evident. For one moment, Mycroft tried to imagine Sherlock consulting on a case with a different detective.

He shook his head. He couldn't imagine Sherlock tolerating any other copper showing up at his flat, leaning comfortably against his doorframe and dishing out an odd case. Business as usual. No, not without DI Lestrade.

Then arose the question, why was DI Lestrade the one to be targeted? Maybe this incident wasn't linked to Mycroft's case? Maybe it was someone trying to threaten Sherlock? Perhaps this was a case involving a criminal that DI Lestrade had put behind bars? God knows there is a great many of them.

Mycroft frowned. He wasn't a man who believed in coincidences.

He pulled his phone back out and punched in a number from memory. It rang a few times. "Hello." Mycroft greeted when the call was finally connected.

_"Hello." _Hoover responded. _"What is it?"_

"There has been a shooting down at the New Scotland Yard. I have reason to believe that this incident is connected to your case." Mycroft informed him. "I just thought you should know."

There was a brief silence on the other end. _"DI Lestrade? Got it, I'll look into it." _And Mycroft hung up.

He put his phone away a second time and ran his eyes over his paperwork, not really reading the words. Then he sighed in defeat and checked his watch. Every moment that ticked by brought DI Lestrade closer to death or salvation.

Mycroft lowered his wrist, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. There was nothing to be done until Lestrade was announced dead or stable. Mycroft began reading his paper again from the beginning.

He had only gotten past the third line of monotonous font when he realized that he wouldn't get much work done. It was strange. Mycroft never had trouble doing work before.

"Damn it." he cursed and threw down his paper, picking up his trusty umbrella.

* * *

><p><em>"...And earlier this evening, several bombs have been reported to have been set off downtown..."<em> Lestrade stirred and let out a soft groan.

A bombing downtown... He opened his eyes and blinked mutely. Now, the important question, to get up now? Or wait for someone at the station to call in? He turned over in his bed and looked for the source of the sound.

_Strange. _He was pretty sure he turned off the TV before going to sleep...

He sat bolt upright, not moving his gaze from the door leading to the hall. _Then who turned it on?_

Maybe Sherlock broke into his flat again? He threw his covers aside and pattered, barefoot, to the door and nudged it open. He could see light flickering through the small open space under the closed living room door.

He slipped quietly over to it and twisted the doorknob.

_Whizz-thuk! _Lestrade felt his body fall to the floor bonelessly and his head rolled to stare up at the cloudy afternoon sky. Lestrade was overwhelmed by a feeling of deja vu.

Wait... the sky? And why was it so bright...?

* * *

><p>Lestrade blinked his eyes open to find himself staring at a strange tiled ceiling. It was just a dream. "Sir?" He twisted his head to the side to see Donovan sitting on a plastic chair by his bedside.<p>

"Do-..." Lestrade croaked and began coughing violently, suddenly very aware of something painful and alien in his throat. The urgent beeping of some machine to his left startled him into near full lucidity and he quickly focused on the need to calm himself.

"Don't talk." Donovan told him firmly, squeezing his shoulder. "Don't move, either. I'm just going to leave for a second to call a doctor." And the pressure on his shoulder was gone.

Lestrade tried to swallow but the inside of his mouth was dry. He lay there, squirming helplessly for a moment or two before a doctor finally hurried in. "I see you're awake." The doctor smiled a well-rehearsed smile that Lestrade knew could just as well mean 'I don't like you, but I'm going to treat you because I'm bound by a hippocratic oath' or 'You're going to die a slow, and horrible death, but I won't tell you that'.

Lestrade just nodded and forced out a muffled groan.

"Don't worry," the doctor told him. "fighting with the ventilation machine is a very good sign, it's proof that your lungs are in very fine condition indeed!"

Lestrade just grunted to signal he heard the doctor.

"Alright, I'm going to take you off the ventilator just as soon as I fix this..." The doctor reached over him to fiddle with the IV drip that was attached to Lestrade's arm.

That was when Lestrade saw it. A ragged scar on the doctor's forearm that made itself known when the ill-fitting sleeve of his doctor's robe slid up as he stretched his arm.

Several things made themselves frightningly clear to Lestrade in that split second.

That the robe evidently didn't belong to its wearer, that the wearer's hand shook due to the slight damages to the nerves in his arm where it was severed, scar on the arm, probably from close combat. Lestrade doubted that any self-respecting hospital would hire anybody with a history of violence. Ergo, this man was not a doctor... nor a nurse. ... And that Sherlock was having some kind of affect on him.

Lestrade's first reaction to these revelations was to lunge at the man, knocking him backward in shock and surprise. Donovan let out a shriek at the sudden show of violence, hands flying up to cover her mouth.

The man leapt back to his feet but was plummeled to the ground again by two men in suits that rushed in at the first sounds of a struggle. A few security guards followed minutes later and the man was bundled quickly out of the ward.

Lestrade doubled over, tumbling out of his bed clutching his throat and gagging on the disrupted tube lodged in his throat, desperately trying to fight the waves of nausea that wracked his body.

Suddenly, there was a presence at his elbow and a kind hand gripped his shoulder, steadying him. And all Lestrade could think was 'Oh, God, don't touch me!' in a panicked mantra. "Don't worry, Mister Lestrade." A female voice cooed soothingly as a hand rubbed his back.

The woman wore a dark dress with a mini-skirt and a rather revealing V-neck, her hair was a silky brunette and fell around her shoulders in rich, brown curls. Of course, Lestrade would've appreciated her company more if he wasn't in the process of retching on an oxygen tube. She stayed with him until the doctors-... _real doctors_, arrived to treat him.

It wasn't until later that Lestrade realized that he never caught her name, nor had they ever met before. Why did she know him?

* * *

><p>Mycroft watched the proceedings with a grim detachment through the CCTV footage from a camera across the street. Couldn't have electronics in the ward, naturally.<p>

He frowned, near glowered at the TV screen, watching as Lestrade was helped (bodily lifted) back to his bed, having given into shock and exhaustion and had thankfully passed out. He should've been vigilant, should've known something might've happened. God knows how close Lestrade could've been to death if he hadn't had the clarity to fight back.

Mycroft gritted his teeth against the cold feeling festering in his stomache at the thought and began tapping the floor incessantly with the tip of his umbrella. Maybe he was coming down with a bug?

He decided that he should probably get himself checked out by a trusted doctor and retire early today.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

The next time Lestrade woke up, he was endlessly grateful to find himself endotracheal tube-free. His eyebrows quirked a little of their own accord when he completed the thought. Funny things tend to happen to your intellect when you've associated yourself too much with eccentric consulting detectives and their flatmate... who happens to be a doctor.

He opened his eyes blearily and found that Donovan was no longer sitting by his bedside. That was a small relief to Lestrade, he never really enjoyed showing any weakness to his subordinates. The unfortunate reality of the matter was, he was alone.

He tried to figure out if that was a good thing or bad thing.

He didn't have long to contemplate the matter as a soft knock jolted him out of his thoughts. "Who-..." Lestrade coughed through his dry throat. "Who is it?"

The door opened and the one-and-only Mycroft Holmes stood on the threshold, leaning on his umbrella like some larger than life Jimney Cricket. Lestrade blinked, rubbed sleep-induced fogginess from his eyes and looked again. Nope, still there. "Hello." he greeted finally when he had made certain of the government agent's identity. "Can't say I was expecting you."

Mycroft smiled at him pleasantly and strolled comfortably into the ward, twirling his umbrella absently as he went. "I take it you expected Sherlock or Doctor Watson?" He moved nearer to Lestrade's bed, taking his lovely time of it. He poured the detective a cup of water and offered it to him.

Lestrade took a hesitant sip, careful of his sore throat, then promptly downed the cup. "Wasn't expecting anybody in particular." Lestrade admitted, handing the glass back to Mycroft. "Especially not you."

An awkward beat. Mycroft put the glass down on a nearby surface. "Sherlock and Doctor Watson are currently out of the country on a case." he informed Lestrade. "Just in case you were wondering. They probably haven't heard the news yet."

Lestrade grunted. "Just as well, don't want them coming back prematurely." Mycroft and he shared a smile at that. "Do you think it'll be alright if I get up?" He asked hesitantly.

"I don't forsee any problem with that." Mycroft responded. "Should I call a doctor...?" Lestrade shook his head.

"Don't really want any of that right now." He chuckled humorlessly, then he bit his lip, probably because the sheets tucked tight around his body deprived him of any other mode of nervous fidgeting. "Do you-..." Lestrade stopped midsentence, evidently thinking better of his actions. Then he began again. "Do you think it would be too presumptuous of me to ask you to give me a hand?"

Mycroft blinked down at him for a moment. "Not at all." He gripped Lestrade's shoulder firmly as the DI clutched his sleeve and pulled himself upright.

Lestrade gave a small sigh of relief at being at least partially vertical now. "Ah, that's much better." He scooted back to prop himself up comfortably on the headrest.

They sat through another bout of awkward silence. "I suppose you'd want to know what's going on." Mycroft prompted, placing his umbrella across his knees importantly.

Lestrade sent him a piercing look. "Sherlock isn't here to interrogate me on what I'd seen, or hadn't seen. So I don't suppose this has anything to do with him." Mycroft nodded, seeing the logic behind the assumption. "No coppers here for the same reason, if this is an incident related to some criminal I'd helped put away I'm sure my superiors would want to know all the details." Mycroft didn't respond at that.

Lestrade looked at Mycroft, then lowered his gaze to the floor, to the door, and then out the window. "Random attempted murder?" he thought aloud. "A cop killer? An-... an insane-..." he was vaguely aware that he was rambling. Must be the cocktail of painkillers in his system.

"I'm sorry." Mycroft's quiet apology startled him into silence but he still didn't look away from the scenery outside window.

"Why? You don't-... You're not-..." Lestrade blinked rapidly a few times and then sighed in defeat. "I'm never going to know, am I?"

Mycroft furrowed his brow. "It matters on what you want to know."

Lestrade finally looked at Mycroft. "Why." It wasn't a question, it was a resigned statement. "I was shot and assulted in the hospital, it's obvious that someone is trying to kill me. And, for all I know, they might well succeed and I'll never know why they did it. National security, and all that." Mycroft pressed his lips together. Lestrade had every reason to be upset.

Lestrade took a deep breath and stared down at his hands folded loosely in his lap. "I'm drugged, in shock, and I'm rambling, saying things I don't really mean." A sad ghost of a smile passed over Lestrade's face. "Sorry."

Mycroft frowned in genuine confusion. "There's no need to be."

"Just-...You know what?" Lestrade made that same abortive motion with his hands that Mycroft had just seen the day Lestrade had been shot. "I don't care-... and I don't want to know." He shook his head tiredly. "Just as long as you can assure me that none of my subordinates or any other civilians will get dragged into this... thing, okay? Lets just leave it at that."

Mycroft nodded mutely.

Lestrade threaded his fingers through his hair and blew out a breath. "I won't keep you from work any more." he said to Mycroft with a slight smile. "Good evening, Mycroft."

Mycroft took that as his cue to leave.

The moment Lestrade was again alone in the room, he dropped his head into his hands.

He hiccuped softly, not crying, not hyperventilating, not sighing, just... hiccuping, gritting his teeth. It was difficult to explain what he was feeling right now. He didn't feel so very scared, or traumatized by the incident, truth be told. He wasn't angry either. Not knowing what was going on was just one of those things he knew he would have to deal with, concerning Mycroft.

It was something similar to Sherlock witholding evidence. Lestrade didn't like it one bit, but it was just something that he had to deal with.

But, just because he knew this, didn't make it any easier to handle.

* * *

><p><em>Strange.<em> Mycroft thought to himself that night as he sat brooding in his study.

Everything he knew about DI Lestrade was... well, strange, to say in the least. Everything he knew about the man was so different from the simple human psychologies that Mycroft was accustomed to dealing with.

_Complicated._ Mycroft nodded decisively. DI Lestrade was complicated.

He was a good copper, good at his job, an upstanding citizen... well, as upstanding as an acquaintence of Sherlock Holmes could be. His work ethic was simple enough for his subordinates to understand. Simple rules. Be punctual, be efficient, and be polite. And Lestrade's subordinates respected him enough to follow his rules unless Sherlock was involved, and in that case, Mycroft couldn't blame them.

Lestrade was a man who rolled with the punches he recieved but never struck back unless he had good reason to. He was the man who saved Mycroft's life and now he couldn't do a single thing for him.

Mycroft didn't understand why Lestrade was merely a DI. If he was ambitious he could be so much more. But he wasn't. He was comfortable as a DI. He was comfortable in his own skin, right down to the bones, in fact. He assumed Lestrade was quite pleased with his life.

Again, ..._strange_.

And Mycroft had no idea how to handle him.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

"You're... up." Mycroft blinked blankly, slightly surprised when he ran into Lestrade wandering aimlessly in the hospital lounge a few days later.

"I was shot in the torso, I don't see how that would affect my legs much." Lestrade smiled back sheepishly, shifting his walking aid to a more comfortable position. "I was told I'd make a full recovery." he added as an afterthought. "Bullet caught a lung but missed the heart by an inch, so I'm fine." He grimaced. "Do I give off the feeling of being shorter than I look?"

Mycroft chuckled. "No, but you do slouch frequently." He gestured towards Lestrade's slightly hunched stance with his umbrella. Lestrade glared a little, no real malice in the action.

"Oh no." Lestrade groaned as two men rounded the corner and saw him. "Here come the Gestapo."

Mycroft turned to see his two subordinates looking ashamed. "Did you lose something, gentlemen?" Seeing as the two agents had nothing to say in their own defense, Mycroft waved them off.

Then he turned to Lestrade. "Fancy a cuppa, DI Lestrade?"

Lestrade looked from Mycroft, to his two fast retreating agents, and to the doors like he really wanted to be somewhere else. Then he turned back to Mycroft with a resigned look. "Why not?"

Mycroft led him to a cafe just on the other side of the street from the hospital and they seated themselves near the back of the shop in a cosy corner. Lestrade had to chuckle and shake his head at the blatant cliche. Mycroft merely raised an eyebrow at his amusement but seated himself, nevertheless, back against the wall, facing the windows.

"Do people really do that... consciously?" Lestrade asked him after scooting himself into a chair. "Isn't that a dead give-away?" he asked, gesturing to Mycroft, and to the window.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "Yes, it tells enemies that I'm keeping an eye out for them. I've got other people keeping an eye on me, you understand."

"So, not a security precaution, a counter-surveilence tactic?" Lestrade laughed. "Never quite thought of it that way."

They ordered tea and scones and Lestrade opened the morning paper, keeping an eye on the tabloids for any familiar cases while Mycroft began mentally solving the daily crossword... upside down.

Lestrade patted himself down for a spare pencil and offered it to Mycroft when he noticed the man's questing glances. "You're really doing it upside down?" he asked, handing Mycroft the paper when he finished with it.

Mycroft shrugged his shoulders. "Many people can read upside down writing, all it takes is a little practice."

Lestrade leaned in ever so slightly when he saw the government agent struggling with a word. "Wonga."

Mycroft's eyebrows furrowed in bewilderment. "I beg your pardon?" he asked.

"Wonga." Lestrade repeated. "5 down." Mycroft blinked, nonplussed. "UK slang for 'unspecified amount of money'." Lestrade explained.

Mycroft nodded slowly, filling in the little blank spaces. "Huh, interesting." he mused. "Looks like you _do_ learn new things everyday."

Lestrade leaned back in his seat comfortably. "Surprise."

Mycroft scribbled a few more words into the puzzle. "I hope you don't mind me taking the liberty of arranging you to take a sick leave?" He glanced up at Lestrade.

"Hm?" Lestrade looked at him with wide eyes. He hadn't been listening very attentively. "Oh, the sick leave, yeah. I heard about if from Donovan when she dropped by." He blinked. "Any reason for it, other than me being shot?"

Mycroft fell silent, contemplating what his answer should be. "It's not safe here, right now. I would advise you to take a short vacation, of sorts. Sherlock and John are in Geneva, lovely this time of year."

Lestrade rolled his eyes and threw his hands up. "And where would I go?" was his rhetorical question. "I'm not leaving." he said adamantly.

"It's dangerous here." Mycroft told him, feeling quite like he was conversing with a slightly more civil Sherlock.

"It's not going to be any safer anywhere else." Lestrade argued.

"I really hope you wouldn't try to force my hand." Mycroft said casually, but oh, so threatening.

"What are you going to do, kidnap me?" Lestrade snorted.

"I'm begining to think it's a good idea." Mycroft shot back.

"It isn't." Lestrade told him. "I'll go and complain to your superiors... if you have any. And I'll tell them that you've confined me against my will and that you showed signs of mental instability."

"They won't believe you." Mycroft scoffed.

"You were almost killed several days ago." Lestrade pointed out. "You may be suffering from PTSD. I may not convince anyone of that, but the doubt will be there."

Mycroft leaned forward menancingly. "I could make life very difficult for you, DI Lestrade."

"Is that before or after you've been demoted, or possibly dismissed, Mister Holmes?" Lestrade inclined his head innocently, instinctively dropping the 'Mycroft'.

Mycroft leaned back with a sigh. "You really are a tenacious man, arn't you, DI Lestrade." Lestrade blinked, expression stony. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Lestrade replied.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

"You're sure you're alright?" The constable who accompanied Lestrade home, PC Carter, asked as they clambered out of his panda car.

"I'm fine." Lestrade sighed for at least the fiftieth time that day. "Really." He hopped up the few stairs that led up to his front door, just happy to have finally gotten rid of his walking aid. "See?"

PC Carter just raised his hand in a half salute. "Just checking." Then he nodded up to Lestrade's flat. "You want me to-..."

"No!" Lestrade waved him off frantically. "Go home, Carter! I've had enough pampering for the rest of my life."

PC Carter just shook his head with a chuckle and moved back into his vehicle. "Well, goodnight, Sir." he called out and pulled away from the curb.

Lestrade watched the tail lights drift away and turn the corner at the end of the street before sighing in relief. He pulled his keys out from his trouser pocket and thrust it into the lock, turning it.

Or, more precisely, didn't turn it. Not for the lack of trying, though.

Lestrade took a step back to stare at his rebellious lock for a moment. Then he twisted the doorknob.

The flat was unlocked. Lestrade never left the flat unlocked.

He nudged the door open with his foot just in case there were still untainted fingerprints on the knob. He stepped quietly through the doorway and heard glass snap under his weight. He fumbled for the light switch.

His flat was a complete mess from his front door to his still unused attic. No cupboard was unopened, no glass object left intact, whoever the invader of his privacy was even took the liberty to litter the flat with Lestrade's clothes.

Whoever was here was looking for something but as far as Lestrade could see, nothing was taken.

Suddenly, Lestrade's thoughts were interrupted by a noise at the front door, more of a rustle, really. Lestrade grabbed a flashlight and bolted to the door. He arrived just in time to see a figure dash around the street corner and pursued. He stopped at the street corner though, mindful of his injuries, and returned to his flat.

He locked up and trudged to the nearest cafe and ordered a scalding cup of tea just as the clock struck ten o'clock.

At ten fifteen, Mycroft appeared, looming over him like some angel of death with an ominous umbrella in place of a flaming sword. "Good night, DI Lestrade." he greeted.

"Not now, Mister Holmes." Lestrade groaned, rubbing his temples. "I really don't need you to tell me 'I told you so'."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at him and sat at the table beside Lestrade's, giving him ample space but being close enough to converse with. They sat in silence for a few long minutes.

Lestrade pressed his lips together into a thin line, a habit of his that usually made itself known when Lestrade entered a particularly gruesome crime scene. "How bad is it?" Lestrade asked solemnly, breaking the silence.

"How bad is what?" Mycroft asked. Apparently, Lestrade had a very peculiar belief that Mycroft could read minds.

"How dangerous are these people?" Lestrade rephrased his question. "The people you're looking for."

Mycroft stared at the condiments tray on his table. "I can't say, for sure." Then he furrowed his eyebrows worriedly. "Why do you ask?"

Lestrade tapped a finger on the surface of his table for a moment. "What are they looking for?"

"Have they done something that caused you to come to the conclusion that they're looking for something?" Mycroft questioned.

"Came around to my flat and made a right mess of things." Lestrade confessed. "And then they came around again just as I got there, saw me, and took off."

When he looked up, Mycroft was typing on his phone. "Did you see anybody well enough to give a description?" Mycroft asked him distractedly.

"No, not unless I was Sherlock." Lestrade sighed. "You know, he'd probably be able to tell you what size, gender, and where the person I saw frequented with what little I saw."

"And how much did you see?" Mycroft asked.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe just the rear inch of his, or her, boot." Lestrade spat sarcastically and rolled his eyes. "I really don't get how Sherlock does it."

Mycroft ignored him. "Did you call in the police?"

Lestrade snorted and shook his head. "Oh, that's the last thing I want, my subordinates poking around in my stuff... after it's been burglarized and such." He shrugged his shoulders. "Guess it wasn't really smart of me to leave the place unattended, though. Might've been able to lift a few prints from the doorknob..." He eyed Mycroft dubiously. "Though, if you're having such a time of tracking these people down, I don't suppose they'd be daft enough to leave prints, would they?"

Mycroft shook his head. "It's doubtful."

A waitress approached them and Lestrade requested another cup of tea. "I should probably get home, shouldn't I?" Lestrade sighed, taking an appreciative sip and setting it aside. "With it getting late and all."

"You seem to have forgotton that your flat has been very effectively rendered impossible to live in." Mycroft chuckled at him.

Lestrade blinked blankly, then chuckled at himself. "I don't know what's wrong with me right now."

"Yes, I don't think it's safe for you to be on your own." Mycroft nodded. "Do you have some friend that you could stay with for the time being?"

Lestrade shook his head. "I spend more time in the Yard than out of it, most of my friends are officers who are currently still on duty." He blinked blearily at Mycroft. "You've got your men searching my flat, haven't you?" Again, statement not question.

Mycroft didn't answer that. He stood up from his seat and smoothed out the creases on his suit vest. "Well, you're right about it getting late." He was silent for a moment. "I'll book you a room at a hotel."

Lestrade waved him off. "Don't bother, never been able to sleep in strange places, pathetic as that sounds." Mycroft shook his head to signal otherwise. "I'd probably feel safer down at the Yard."

"I don't think that's wise, considering the extent of your injuries." Mycroft sighed. "Besides, sick leaves are for rest and recuperation... preferably stress-free. I don't think you'll get that down at the Yard."

A hint of a smile flitted across Lestrade's face. "You're probably right about that." Scratch that, Mycroft was one hundred percent right about that.

Mycroft sent Lestrade an evaluating glance, then spoke. "I have a spare bedroom you might like to use for the night." Lestrade looked at him, eyes wide with surprise. "Well, it would be better advised to take the hotel room, but..." Mycroft grimaced. "What I'm trying to say is, your company would be most welcome." Then he grimaced again. "And, well, it's the least I can do, considering the fact that my men are intruding in your flat."

Lestrade laughed, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. "I would be glad to take you up on your offer, then." he said awkwardly, then... "That _is_ what people usually say, isn't it?"

Mycroft furrowed his eyebrows a little. "I'm not entirely sure. I don't make it a habit to stay over at other people's houses."

Lestrade chuckled. "Neither do I."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

"So this is what your new house is like?" Lestrade grinned as Mycroft led the way into the house's living room. "Sorry about the... other one."

Mycroft thought about Lestrade's first remark for a moment. "No, it's alright. This is actually the safehouse I've been living in since the... well, incident." Lestrade suddenly looked a little embarrassed for mentioning it. "Although, it is very much alike, isn't it?"

They had been dropped off at Mycroft's safehouse during the early moments of midnight, and both men were more than ready for rest.

Mycroft pointed, from the living room, at the hall adjoining it. "The guest room is the second door on the right, the bathroom is the door just beyond it. Feel free to occupy the living room, and I'm sure you can find some substantial food in the kitchen. I'm not too accustomed to the layout of the kitchen myself, I'm sure you can find whatever you need through trial-and-error." Mycroft tapped his chin, wondering if he was forgetting to inform Lestrade of anything.

"Oh, and, spare towels and toiletries are in the bathroom." Lestrade nodded his thanks and stumbled sleepily to the bathroom to wash up.

He found towels and bathrobes folded impeccably in a cabinet and at the sink he found toothbrushes, shaving set, soap bars, and... acne cream...? Lestrade decided to ignore it.

After washing up, Lestrade snuck into the guest room in a bathrobe, not really wishing to sleep in trousers and dress shirt, but not comfortable enough to sleep without.

He crawled under the covers and closed his eyes.

And tried to convince himself that the man who owned this house wasn't a high-ranking government agent and potential morbid-experimentation-prone-high-functioning-sociopath like his brother.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

><p>Mycroft perked up, startled when he heard a whisper of sound from downstairs. He wasn't accustomed to having visitors at his own home, temporary as it may be, and he was having a bit of trouble concentrating even from the second floor study.<p>

He shook out his wrist to glance at his watch. It was two thirty in the morning.

Five minutes later, another rustle of movement pulled his attention from his work. Then the sound of footsteps padding quietly to the bathroom before Lestrade turned on the water tap.

Mycroft decided that enough work had been done today and locked up his papers in a hidden safe in the study, noting distractedly that the water downstairs had stopped running while he did so. He glided down the stairs and through the living room to the kitchen, silent as a cat, and began brewing a pot for tea.

You could imagine his surprise when he exited the kitchen to find Lestrade sitting curled up on his couch, staring blankly at the powerless TV screen, his bathrobe hanging loosely from his shoulders and gathering at his bent knees. Lestrade hadn't noticed he entered the room so Mycroft just watched him think for a moment or two, wondering why the DI hadn't just gone back to sleep.

It was probably the nightmares, Mycroft thought. Being a copper associated with Sherlock was bound to get him into some of the more gruesome cases. Mycroft noted the dark circles around Lestrade's eyes, but his eyes themselves were undeniably awake and alert. And his mind, thinking, thinking, solving problems, ...troubled. Evaluating, which cases he would need Sherlock's help on, and which he could solve on his own before the killer could supply more victims. DI Lestrade just couldn't turn his work switch off.

"Can't sleep?" Mycroft broke the dead silence, startling Lestrade out of his grim musings.

Lestrade jumped at Mycroft's sudden appearance in his peripherals and turned to the man meekly. "No, I-... I could sleep... until I woke up." He shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "And that was it."

Mycroft nodded, his mouth opening in a silent 'ah'. "Would you like tea? I just boiled a pot for myself."

Lestrade nodded gratefully, following Mycroft into the kitchen. "What are you doing up at this time of night? Er-... morning?"

Mycroft quirked his eyebrows at him but ignored his struggle to find the right word. "Working." He poured Lestrade a cup of tea.

"'Working'?" Lestrade parroted, taking the offered cup with a nod of thanks. "At this time?"

"Yes, I only sleep from precisely four a.m to seven a.m." Mycroft told him.

Lestrade raised his eyebrows. "Why not from three a.m to six a.m.?" Mycroft furrowed his eyebrows in confusion at the strange question, obviously trying to find the logic behind it. "Just a random question." Lestrade assured him.

"Well I've tried that." Mycroft said, sipping his own cup of tea. "But I find that most night-time emergencies make themselves known at three fifteen." he deadpanned.

Lestrade nearly dropped his cup. "Did you just-...?" _...make a joke? _He ran a hand down the lower half of his face and chuckled, shaking his head. "Nevermind."

They drank their tea in silence for a while, both leaning languidly against opposite ends of the kitchen counter. "May I ask what it was about? Your dream." Mycroft inquired with a careful casuallness that only he could pull off.

Lestrade's jaw tightened slightly, the change would most likely be lost on an amateur observer, but Mycroft was watching for it. "I don't remember my dreams." Lestrade lied with a dark chuckle. "Never do."

Mycroft merely hummed back. "Neither do I." Then his cellphone buzzed. "And here comes my midnight crisis." He pulled his vibrating phone out of his pocket. "Do you mind?"

Lestrade grunted behind a mouthful of tea and waved his assent. Mycroft turned away and wandered a few steps off. _"Sorry for the late-night call. You wern't sleeping, were you?" _It was Hoover.

"Of course not." Mycroft scoffed. "What is it?"

_"It seems that the case involving DI Lestrade is becoming a serious matter." _Hoover spoked tiredly. _"We went through the break-in scene with a fine tooth comb and found nothing. Seems like whoever is behind this didn't find what he, or she, was looking for. His office down at the Yard is in shambles. We've got his sergeant, Sally Donovan, on the case and she's to make note of anything missing."_

Mycroft frowned a little, glancing over his shoulder at Lestrade. "I see, well keep me posted."

_"Will do."_ Hoover hung up.

The ends of Mycroft's lips dipped an inch and he narrowed his eyes at the surface of his kitchen counter. What on earth was this case coming to? The first attempt on Lestrade's life was startling, but not entirely unexpected. If Mycroft's enemies wanted to send him a warning message, they could assume that Mycroft heard them loud and clear.

So why the second attempt? And what did Lestrade have that they want?

Lestrade chuckled a little to himself at the expression of pure concentration on Mycroft's face. "We're not starting a war tonight, are we?" he tried to joke.

Mycroft's head jumped up and he looked at Lestrade like he had forgotten he was there. "No. Not tonight, at any rate." he responded with a tense smile.

_A cold war, perhaps._ Mycroft thought. _DI Lestrade, what are you hiding?_


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Lestrade didn't know exactly when he had fallen back asleep, but the morning had risen before he had and he jumped up, quite startled at waking in a strange bedroom. He was eighteen years old the last time he had been in such a situation, he never really drank much since then, at least he was alone this time. He shuddered. It took a few seconds for him to remember where he was and why.

His shoulders sagged in relief.

He glanced at the bedside clock, it was six o'clock. Lestrade stretched and yawned before quickly covering his mouth. That's right. Mycroft usually woke up at seven. And he was such a sharp man, Lestrade didn't doubt that it would take less than a floorboard squeak to wake him.

He slipped silently out of his bathrobe and into his shirt and trousers before tiptoeing into the kitchen, careful not to make any noise.

* * *

><p>Mycroft knew exactly when he had fallen asleep last night, four fifteen a.m. precisely. He opened his eyes and yawned languidly before dragging himself out from under his plush covers. He washed up, and checked his phone for any missed messages before finally noting the peaceful calm of the house. He checked his watch, it was just ten minutes past seven.<p>

Which was strange because Mycroft knew, for a fact, that Lestrade usually woke up at six.

Mycroft strained his ears as he dressed himself. No footsteps marking progress around the house, no breakfast dishes clinking together... nothing. He furrowed his eyebrows and trudged downstairs, shrugging his suit jacket on as he went.

The living room was empty, as was the kitchen, but there were two plates of scrambled eggs and bacon as well as a steaming pot of coffee on the table.

Lestrade was nowhere in sight.

Mycroft let out an exasperated sigh. How had Lestrade managed to wander off in the three hours he was left unsupervised? Maybe he went and got himself kidnapped? ... Or worse. The more Mycroft thought about it, the more serious his outlook on the situation became.

"What's with the grim look so early in the morning?" Mycroft spun around to see Lestrade stumbling through the front door, fumbling with a shopping bag and a metal-wired basket housing a bottle of milk and a container of yogurt.

"Where were you?" Mycroft asked, ignoring Lestrade's greeting question.

"Out buying milk." Lestrade grinned sheepishly. "Although, if I'd known the milkman would be by, I wouldn't have gone through the trouble." he said, holding up the metal basket for inspection.

Mycroft decided not to tell the DI that the milkman didn't come and that the dairy products were placed there by one of Mycroft's men. Instead, he settled for. "Were you gone for long?" Mycroft knew that the milk deliveries were scheduled to be placed sometime within fifteen minutes before Mycroft woke up, Lestrade would've noticed the milk if he had gone out just a few minutes earlier.

"Kind of." Lestrade grinned sheepishly. "I would insert some Baker Street chip-and-PIN machine joke here, but I can't think of anything clever right now so I'll admit... I got lost."

Mycroft stared impassively at the chipper DI for a moment before shaking his head with a slight chuckle. "Too early in the morning, DI Lestrade." he complained half-heartedly.

Lestrade ignored the remark. "Made breakfast, hope you don't mind." He rummaged around the kitchen, opening and closing a few of the cupboards looking for adequate coffee mugs. "Felt a little bad about making food for just myself, didn't know whether you'd drink coffee or tea, so I made a bit of both." he chattered on a-mile-a-minute.

"Too early in the morning." Mycroft repeated, amused. He caught Lestrade by the arm as he passed, grounding him to a stop. "Good morning, DI Lestrade."

Lestrade smiled lopsidedly at him. "Morning, Mister Holmes." They sat down for breakfast.

"You seem very bright this morning." Mycroft prompted after a few bites of bacon. "Might you tell me the reason for it?"

Lestrade blinked at him. "It's a horrible reason." he said a little guiltily, Mycroft motioned for him to continue. "I haven't had a call from work for the last seventy-two hours." Mycroft chuckled behind his cup of tea. "The last time there was such a gap in reports was back when I was still a constable." Lestrade shook his head sheepishly. "It's a little bit unnerving."

"And now you're left with too much excess energy." Mycroft deduced.

"It's strange, not having anything to do." Lestrade grimaced. "But, at the same time, you know your work is just piling up, waiting for you to get back."

"Nothing you can do about it." Mycroft told him sternly, Lestrade fidgeted. "I've heard outlandish stories about your drive to solve cases and get work done, in fact, I think it's only rivaled by Sherlock's incessant quest for mental stimulation. I hope you won't do something foolish like going out looking for them like he does."

Lestrade shook his head far too quickly to be casual. "Course not."

Mycroft nodded. "Of course not."

They sat in silence for a while after that, the only noise being from silverware clinking against glass plates. When he finished his food, Lestrade put his silverware down. "I really shouldn't impose on you any more than neccessary, Mister Holmes." he said. "If your men are done at my flat, I think I'd like to go back there."

Mycroft also put aside his silverware in a gesture that told Lestrade he had his full attention. He leaned his elbows on the table and entwined his fingers, resting his chin on them. For one, Mycroft would be quite pleased to have the house to himself once again, it was quite difficult to work without distraction when there was another person in the premises. But, on the other hand, Mycroft knew that he'd have to find what connected Lestrade so firmly to his case and Lestrade held the key to solving it, whether he knew it or not. And, of course, there was always the lingering doubt that Lestrade would be safe on his own.

Having reached a decision, Mycroft spoke. "I'm sorry, but I don't think that would be possible so soon." Lestrade furrowed his eyebrows worriedly. "Your office down at the Yard was also... rifled through. Your sergeant is currently investigating the case." Lestrade's eyes widened in shock. "I didn't tell you last night, I didn't think it wise. You seemed to be in a bit of shock with all that's happened, no surprise, quite. In fact, you seemed to be handling the attempted assassination and break-in rather well, might I say." Mycroft added in afterthought.

Lestrade slowly wiped his mouth with a napkin, still in shock. "I'm sorry for my deception." Mycroft said to him, quite genuinely.

"But-...how-..." Lestrade seemed at a loss for words. "How did they get into the Yard?" He pushed back his seat and stood up, picking up his suit jacket as he got up.

"And where are you going?" Mycroft asked, not moving from his seat.

"To the Yard, where else?" Lestrade growled. "I should go and see for myself if anything is missing. Has there been any reports on casualties?"

Mycroft stood with such a force that the noise of the chair being pushed back stopped Lestrade in his tracks. "No, nobody was hurt." He narrowed his eyes at Lestrade. "Which is almost a downright miracle, considering the sheer number of people who work there and could've been unfortunate witnesses. Next time, we might not be so lucky." Mycroft took Lestrade's shoulder and pushed him firmly back into his seat. "They're after you, for what reason, I don't know."

"So I should just sit here and hide?" Lestrade spat.

"No, I'm saying it's better for you to sit tight while my men investigate instead of gallivanting off and endangering other civilians." Mycroft responded quietly, hoping that Lestrade would listen to the voice of sanity. "Going out there now is suicidal, you're injured and vulnerable, you're not going to be of any help to anyone if you're dead."

Lestrade buried his face in his hands and took a calming breath. "You're right." He shook his head, looking up at Mycroft. "I hate to say it, but, you are right. Sorry for overreacting."

"People tend to do so sometimes when they are upset." Mycroft remarked.

A strange look came over Lestrade's face. "Do _you_ overreact sometimes?"

Mycroft blinked. "No, I underreact. But it's the same concept." They looked at each other and laughed. "I think it would be safe enough for us to stop by your flat to pick up any neccessities, if you need something."

Lestrade nodded gratefully. "Thanks." Then Mycroft's phone began ringing. Lestrade sent a wary look at it. "Uh, sorry for asking but, on an average, how many emergencies are there in a day?"

Mycroft frowned at his phone as well. "Let us just assume that there would be catastrophic results if I didn't hear of at least one everyday."

He connected the line. _"It's me." _Hoover announced in a hushed whisper. _"I need to talk to you... now."_

Mycroft sighed, mouthing an apologetic 'sorry' to Lestrade. "Where?"

_"HQ." _So it was an immediate threat?

"I'll be right there." Mycroft responded stonily. He dropped his phone into his suit pocket and grabbed his briefcase from where he left it on an unoccupied chair. "Emergency." he said hurriedly to Lestrade. "I don't know when I'll be back. Don't leave the house."

Lestrade stood and followed him to the front door. "So this is what it's like, being on house arrest?" he snarked playfully.

"Don't. Leave." Mycroft repeated in all seriousness. "If there's an emergency, you have my number."

Lestrade raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay! I got it!"

"Good." Mycroft snatched up his umbrella and hooked it over his arm. "See you, then."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

The Thames House was menancing, and very beautiful in the morning light, Mycroft thought as the car pulled in to the car park. And it was so very mysterious. Mycroft felt quite at home here. He thanked his driver and entered the building where Hoover was waiting for him.

"Hoover." Mycroft greeted in a very business-like manner, hooking his umbrella over his arm and shaking the man's hand easily.

"Mister Holmes." Hoover smiled back grimly, squeezing the government agent's hand firmly.

"What seems to be the emergency?" Mycroft asked as Hoover led him down a hall and into an isolated room.

"It's about DI Lestrade." Hoover said grimly. "I don't think you should trust him." Blunt and to the point, one of Hoover's unique assets that Mycroft liked about him.

"I don't." Mycroft replied coolly. "I'm thankful that you warned me, but it isn't needed. If that's all you called me here for..." Mycroft inclined his head.

"I think I may know what they're looking for." Hoover continued, Mycroft's eyes flashed with interest. "We just finished going through the data and evidence from your previous home..." he trailed off.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "And...?"

"The NOC list is gone." Hoover declared. Mycroft's jaw tightened. "Like I said, I don't think you should trust DI Lestrade."

"I doubt he even knows about it's existance, Hoover." Mycroft said slowly.

"I don't think we can afford to jump to that conclusion." Hoover shot back. "What if he does know?"

Mycroft nodded. "Your concern is touching, Agent Hoover, but like I said, I do not entirely trust DI Lestrade. So you have nothing to worry about." He began to walk away.

"And yet, you've taken him under your roof, Mister Holmes." Hoover called after him, stopping him. "You." he expressed pointedly. "Of all people."

It was a simple statement, a damn truthful one at that, and yet it made way for so many doubts, so many suspicions. Mycroft threw a haughtly look over his shoulder. "A word of the wise, Agent Hoover, keep your friends close, and your potential enemies closer."

"I prefer to keep them at arm's length." Hoover responded. "I think you're getting attached to this investigation personally and am removing you from it." he said after a brief bout of silence.

Mycroft shrugged his shoulders. "Do as you see fit, Agent Hoover." he said. "After all, being an outside agent to the Security Services, I shouldn't have been a part of the investigation in the first place." He smiled pleasantly. "Just as long as you get to the bottom of this case."

He gave his umbrella a little twirl and walked away.

* * *

><p>It was well past sundown when Mycroft finally returned home, he clambered out of his car with a quick 'good night' to his driver and opened the front door. He walked into the house just as Lestrade was exiting his room, startling him.<p>

He let out a less than elegant yelp causing, in turn, Lestrade to jerk and chip in a surprised yell. They stood still for a long moment, Mycroft gripping his chest as though to keep his heart from jumping out of his ribcage and Lestrade with an unholy grip on his bedroom's doorknob.

They met each other's gazes and burst into embarrassed laughter.

"You will forgive me, I am not accustomed to living with a housemate." Mycroft breathed, closing the front door behind him.

"No-...no." Lestrade covered his mouth, still not gaining control over his mirth at the ridiculous situation. "It's alright, just startled me a little." He calmed himself, still grinning.

They had all but traversed the living room when Lestrade gave up and threw himself onto a couch, his giggles erupting again. Mycroft looked at him with such a sour expression that Lestrade had to hide his face in his hands. "You do take your time to get over these things, don't you?" Mycroft noted, hanging his coat and umbrella on the arm of a chair and seating himself in it.

"You should've-... should've seen your face...! Bugger! I should've brought my camera!" Lestrade took a deep breath and after expelling the last few chuckles from his system, relaxed. "How was the crisis?" he inquired politely when he had perfectly recovered himself.

"Oh, strangling out the same old tune." Mycroft sighed tiredly. "We sat down very civily and had tea." Lestrade raised a dubious eyebrow. "Well, whatever it takes to prevent a World War III, you understand."

They sat in silence for a moment. "Do you mind?" Lestrade asked, motioning toward the TV, breaking the comfortable silence. "I heard Doctor Who is on today. Won't admit it on pain of death, but Donovan's a real nutcase about it." He chuckled. "If her word is to be trusted, I'm one of her rare confidants on the matter."

"And you think it's a good idea to tell me this?" Mycroft asked.

"Well again, won't tell even on pain of death, but everybody down at the Yard knows her deep dark secret. Apparently, it's something they all have in common." Lestrade chuckled wryly. "Also effectively sets me apart. I haven't watched the show since I was a kid."

"Ah," Mycroft nodded understandingly. "and your sergeant Donovan decided that this was the opportune moment for you to catch up, with your sick leave, and all." Lestrade nodded with a mock-exasperated sigh.

"Don't know what gets into her sometimes." He chuckled at some amusing memory. "Once told me she wanted to grow up to become the Doctor's companion when she was a kid."

"What about you?" Mycroft asked. "What childish dreams had you?"

"I-..." Lestrade thought about that question for a while. "I don't ever remember a time when I didn't want to become a copper." He eyed Mycroft. "You?"

"It's a funny story, really." Mycroft smiled a little. "Sherlock thought I'd make a good Antichrist, Mummy thought I should pursue a career in linguistics, Father was a politician, and I wanted to become a spy." He snorted. "Ends up, I do a little bit of everything." Lestrade laughed.

"What do you do, anyway?" Lestrade asked curiously staring blankly as Daleks roamed ominously across the TV screen with dramatic music playing in the background. "Can you tell me? Or would you have to kill me if you did?"

Mycroft turned his gaze from the screen to watch him. Lestrade didn't look back. "'Kill you'? How quaint." he chuckled, avoiding the question. "I prefer more... peaceful negotiation methods."

Lestrade snorted. "Insert a few words there, something containing the words 'the price of a man'."

Mycroft smiled at him. "Just so."

Conversation thus finished, they settled down into their seats more comfortably and watched their episode of Doctor Who.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

At seven o'clock a.m. sharp, Mycroft Holmes's eyes snapped open and the first thing he did was listen. He hoped that Lestrade hadn't gone out for milk again and gotten lost.

He heard some failed attempts at moving quietly around downstairs and an extra loud bump followed by a hushed curse. It made him smile a bit. Then he heard Lestrade speaking quietly. This piqued his interest. He leapt out of bed quite agilely for someone of his physical stature and glided silently down the stairs.

Lestrade was sitting on the couch in the living room, rubbing his shin, conversing with someone on his cellphone. Who was it?

"No-... Donovan!" Lestrade expelled with a quiet vehemence. Well, that answered his question quickly enough. "No, of course you didn't find me at my flat! I'm not there!" There was a muffled exclamation from the woman on the other end of the line. "I'm at a friend's house." More exasperated remarks from the sergeant. "Let's just say I took your advice and decided not to stay at home all on my lonesome."

Mycroft decided to come out of hiding and leaned against the living room doorframe, arms crossed as he watched the DI amusedly. Lestrade still hadn't noticed him. "'Don't come back until I heal'? Nah, I'm good. It's just that, any hope of being missed at the Yard jumped out of a very high-up window just then." Mycroft smiled a little. "Thanks for the call Donovan, I appreciate it. Don't go slacking off just because I'm not there!" Lestrade chuckled at something Donovan said. "Okay, okay. I'm going to hang up now. Bye."

Lestrade hung up and pocketed his phone, letting his head fall back against the headrest with a warm smile. It was quite rare to see Lestrade smile so. It wasn't a very big smile, though, more of a simple quirk of the lips. In just one moment, all his worry lines and grim expressions seemed to fade into some distant memory. The action cut a few years off his age and he looked quite relaxed... vulnerable, even. Sally Donovan must be quite a special lady.

Mycroft had realized something about himself when he was about twelve years old. It was that he remembered images that impressed him with a great amount of detail even years later. He felt that his would be one of them.

Lestrade turned his head and finally noticed Mycroft. Then all the worry and caution that made Lestrade, Lestrade, returned. Like a gust of wind had simply plucked the soft smile off his face and hurled it out of the window. "Morning, Mister Holmes." he greeted politely with a smile. It was a smile, but it wasn't _that _smile.

"Good morning." Mycroft nodded back, surprisingly a little disappointed.

"Call from a collegue. I hope I didn't wake you." Lestrade pushed himself up from his seat. "I was just about to go about making breakfast."

"Please, let me." Mycroft offered, strolling past the DI and into the kitchen.

Lestrade's eyes widened. "Didn't know you cooked." He followed nevertheless and began setting the table.

"I am a bachelor, DI Lestrade." Mycroft scoffed, turning his nose up a little. "I do cook from time to time."

After setting the table and making coffee for himself, tea with a slice of lemon for Mycroft, Lestrade sat down awkwardly watching Mycroft trot around the kitchen banging up some breakfast. It was a very domestic scene, Lestrade had to think, all this. And then there was Mycroft, professionally flipping eggs on a pan, puttering around looking for butter for toast, ... in an apron and his silk, navy pyjamas underneath, barefooted on brown linoleum.

"And I still don't have my camera." he remarked, deadpanned.

"A dear happiness." Mycroft responded dryly, self-consciously patting down a wayward strand of hair. "I wouldn't want to ruin my morning negotiating with you to give it up."

They sat in companionable silence as they ate, only speaking to remark on the pleasant weather or to compliment the food. It wasn't very long before they finished and were having after-breakfast tea. "I don't mean to pry." Lestrade had begun, clearing his throat self-consciously. "But is it alright if I ask how you're progressing on your investigation?"

Mycroft stirred the tea in his cup for a moment. "I was removed from the investigation yesterday." he said. "Of course, I wasn't officially part of it from the beginning."

Lestrade lowered his gaze. "Sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about, the investigation is still underway and my acquaintance in MI-5 is leading it, he is a very competent agent." Mycroft smiled.

"Was there some kind of complication?" Lestrade couldn't help but ask concernedly.

Mycroft shook his head. "It doesn't matter." He put his tea down and leaned in toward Lestrade. "But I need to ask you something very important."

Lestrade blinked and nodded mutely, caught off-guard by the sudden change in atmosphere. "What is it?"

"That night, when you came by my house and saved me from drowning, DI Lestrade, do you remember it well?" Mycroft asked earnestly.

"Of course I do." Lestrade responded uneasily.

"And I suppose you called in the police to handle the scene?" Lestrade nodded. "And you bagged evidence?"

"Of course we bagged evidence, we tried to lift prints. Wasn't any, though." Lestrade replied.

"Not very important right now." Mycroft waved the information off and Lestrade thought he saw a vague similarity with Sherlock in the motion. "The evidence that you bagged. What happened to it?"

"We handed everything over to MI-5 when they came to take over the investigation, why?" Lestrade asked.

Mycroft ignored the question. "And the broken objects, you trashed them?"

"No, we bagged them! And then we handed them over to MI-5!" Lestrade was beginning to feel a slight annoyance for the sudden interrogation sprung on him. "What is this about?"

Mycroft pulled back a little. "There was something very, very important missing from the scene." Lestrade raised his eyebrow. "Something that, in the wrong hands, could destroy many lives and years of hard work."

The missing puzzle pieces seemed to be falling into place for Lestrade. "And whoever was after this 'something' thought I had it. That's the reasons behind the break-ins?"

"That would be my guess." Mycroft nodded.

"But I don't have it." Lestrade told him honestly. "I didn't even know about it until now!"

"And I believe you." Mycroft declared firmly. "Unfortunately, MI-5 doesn't share my belief."

Realization dawned on Lestrade. "And that's why they put you off the investigation." He ran a hand over his face. "God, I'm sorry."

"There's no need for apologies." Mycroft waved him off. "In fact, I think if anybody should be apologizing, it should be me." Lestrade raised his eyebrows, waiting for him to continue. "I cannot boast that I fully trusted your innocence from the start." he admitted.

"What made you change your mind?" Lestrade asked.

"Simple psychology." Mycroft smiled. "If you did steal the... 'something', as you so delicately put it, you wouldn't have accepted my invitation to stay here for fear of being found out. I am Sherlock's brother and you are very conscious about the fact. You would've tried to get as far from me as possible." He waved his arm. "Yet, here you are."

Lestrade was silent for a moment, then he smiled slowly. "Here I am." he agreed.

"Lets start over." Mycroft said. "Good morning, my name is Mycroft Holmes. Please, call me Mycroft." He extended his hand.

It took Lestrade only a moment of deliberation to decide to trust the mysterious man. He took Mycroft's hand in a firm grip. "I'm Lestrade, just Lestrade, no DI. I'm off duty."

They shook hands. "Nice to meet you."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Lestrade was getting quite good at solving crosswords. It was an innocent observation he noticed one morning when Mycroft had been called out on an early morning emergency and couldn't keep him company during breakfast.

_7 across, act of killing one's brother. _Lestrade mused thoughtfully for a moment. _Fratricide. _He rolled his eyes. _Of course. _A word like that tends to stick when you associate yourself with the Holmes siblings.

He neatly filled in the little boxes. Before the shooting, Lestrade could've attested that he could only finish about half the daily crosswords before handing it off to Donovan in favor of writing a report. Reports were simple and easy to accomplish.

And speaking of Donovan... Lestrade fished out his phone from his pocket to call the woman. _"Well! If it isn't my favorite governor!" _Sally's voice resonated from the other end, cheerful, but slightly stressed-out.

"Writing a report I take it?" Lestrade smirked.

_"Got it in one." _Donovan chuckled wryly.

"Perfect timing, then!" Lestrade smiled. "How are things over there?"

_"Good, bordering on terrible." _Donovan said in a tone that indicated that she was shrugging her shoulders.

"What does that even mean?" Lestrade asked, furrowing his eyebrows at the strange answer.

_"Good, as in, no Freak and no pile on bodies on our doorstep. Terrible, as in, there's a new DI filling in for you. Some DI Dimmock is in temporarily and he's driving me insane." _Donovan sighed in exasperation.

"Sorry to hear that." Lestrade chuckled a little at her plight.

_"How's it on your end?" _Donovan asked after a brief pause. _"Are you alright?" _It took Lestrade a moment to remember that Donovan had been trusted with the task of securing his office when it had been broken in. He knew Donovan had suspicions of foul play. At least she hadn't heard of the break-in at his home.

"Well, bit good, some bad." Lestrade responded, mimicking her previous answer to his questioning.

Donovan giggled a little. _"Alright, I'll bite. What does that mean?"_

"Um, bit good as in, I'm healing well... and I've gotten the chance to watch Doctor Who." Donovan laughed. "And 'some bad' means I'll be able to come back to work by the weekend." He tried to sound as grim as possible. He failed spectacularly.

_"You're kidding!" _Donovan gasped. _"Already? That's great!"_

Lestrade laughed. "Yeah, so get that annoying Dimmock out of my office and clean it out a bit, why don't you?"

_"Already on it, boss." _Donovan chuckled, it sounded positively evil. _"See you soon." _Click. Donovan must've been waiting forever to throw the new governor out.

Lestrade just chuckled and shook his head.

* * *

><p>"I hear you're returning to work." Mycroft remarked over dinner that evening. "Congratulations."<p>

"Thanks." Lestrade smiled at him brightly. "Can't wait."

Mycroft merely looked at him, amused, and shook his head. "I hope your excitement doesn't keep you up all night."

"You will, if it doesn't." Lestrade grinned before he even realized what he said.

"And, what does that mean, I wonder?" Mycroft inquired, raising an eyebrow. Lestrade blinked blankly, then he finally realized what he let slip.

He grew a few shades paler. "No-.. I-... uh..." He floundered.

"Now, now, Lestrade. Don't be shy." Mycroft goaded him.

"Well-..." Lestrade threw his hands up in surrender. "You snore." He grimaced, blushing a little in embarrassment.

"I snore?" How could Mycroft say such a thing with such polite curiosity?

"Yeah, like, really-..." Lestrade paused before continuing, waving his arms for more emphasis. "... _really_ loudly."

Mycroft's other eyebrow raised to its companion's level. "I snore very loudly." Any more clarification, Lestrade?

Apparently, yes. "Like-..." Lestrade grimaced again uncomfortably. "Like rattling-the-window-panes kind of loud."

Mycroft smirked and looked like he was having a hard time trying not to laugh. "Anything else you would like to speak up about, Lestrade?"

There was silence for a moment before Lestrade shook his head, red as a beet. "No, I think that's it." He grimaced. "I'm just digging a hole for myself, arn't I?"

Mycroft chuckled. "You're very good at it too." At Lestrade's pained look. "No offence taken, though. It's quite refreshing, your honesty, really." Lestrade dropped his face into his hands and groaned.

"You're having fun with this, arn't you?" An astute observation.

"I don't usually enjoy my shortcomings being brought to light, but in this case, I'm sure I can make an exception." Lestrade gave a humorless chuckle. "In fact, I do believe you embarrassed yourself, in telling, more than you embarrassed me."

"Anything you want to warn me about?" Lestrade asked, getting up and pouring them both glasses of cheap wine. Mycroft sent him a calculating look. "Come on, it's only fair."

Mycroft leaned his elbows on the table and entwined his fingers. "You," he began with feigned solemnity. "are quite a peculiar character."

Lestrade rolled his eyes wryly. "Aw, thanks mate!" Mycroft chuckled at him.

"You dog-ear my books." Mycroft continued. "All of them that have been offered, anyway. You're an exceptionally fast reader."

"I took speed reading courses in Uni." Lestrade chuckled. "Comes in handy with my career."

"And, speaking about your career, when are you getting back on official duty?" Mycroft questioned casually.

"Weekend." Lestrade responded, taking a sip of his wine. "And not too soon, either, Donovan sounded like she was pretty close to committing premeditated murder."

Mycroft snorted. "Oh, God forbid."

"I can only hope that I'm not too late." Lestrade shook his head mock-woefully.

"Of course." Mycroft lifted his wine glass at that. "Cheers."


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: I accidentally uploaded chapter 13 on chapter 12, sorry! DX Thanks to Redhead1215 for pointing it out!

Anyway, enjoy!

* * *

><p><span>Chapter Twelve<span>

Lestrade's eyes flew open when he heard a noise at his bedroom door, he could see the golden bar of light from the hall growing from the steadily opening door. Lestrade could vaguely make out the shape of Mycroft Holmes silhouetted on his bed covers and blinked blearily at the source of the light.

"Mycroft?" he murmured, a little peeved at being woken up from his comfortable rest. If he was a little more alert, he would be wondering what the Hell Mycroft was doing in his room while he slept.

Mycroft hovered in the open doorway, not entering the room. "Are you alright?" he finally asked.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Lestrade asked curiously, rolling onto his side and propping his head up on his hand.

"You were speaking in your sleep." Mycroft told him. "I couldn't hear what you said, but I thought I might check up on you."

Lestrade licked his dry lips, looking a little distressed. "I think I'm alright. I didn't even know I was having a nightmare." He saw Mycroft raise his eyebrows and corrected himself. "Didn't know I was sleep talking, I mean."

Mycroft was silent for a while. "Would you like to talk about it?"

Lestrade fisted his eyes sleepily. "Not really." he grunted in reply.

"I think it would do you good." Mycroft encouraged, sidling into the room to stand by his bedside.

If he had done so before the shooting, Lestrade would be quite a bit frightened by the action. But now, he found himself startlingly unaffected. "It's silly..." he sighed and shook his head.

"I'll be the judge of that." Mycroft said in an authoritive tone that Lestrade could easily imagine him using on especially stubborn politicians. "What do you dream of?"

Lestrade worried his lip in silence for a moment, not looking at Mycroft. "Doors." he said finally, then he chuckled darkly. "It's silly, I told you." Mycroft shook his head. "You know, I used to have nightmares about doors since I was a kid. Always dreamt that I opened the door and a faceless copper would be standing there to tell me that my parents died in a traffic collision." He swallowed. "Then, since becoming a copper myself, there were more times that I found myself standing on the other side of that door and dishing out the bad news."

Mycroft nodded understandingly, although, the notion of him really understanding in the way that Lestrade did was unlikely. "And since the incident at the pool-..." Lestrade's voice broke. Mycroft, unaccustomed to dealing with persons plagued with nightmares, settled for squeezing Lestrade's shoulder. "Since that time," Lestrade continued, clearing his throat. "there has been an alarming rise in the times I find myself at Baker Street."

Mycroft's hand on Lestrade's shoulder twitched. In all the times he had both expressed and felt worry for Sherlock, he had never really thought about Sherlock dying. Because Sherlock was Sherlock, he was Mycroft's annoying younger brother and he _never _died. That gave Mycroft something to think about.

"I'm sorry." he said to Lestrade. "I'm not the best at-home therapist and I'm sure you can think of several many people better to help you..." Lestrade shook his head.

"I'm not looking for ways for the nightmares to get better, Mycroft, it's alright." He smiled a little. "At least you listened." And then, for the first time, Lestrade realized that Mycroft was still standing. "You want to sit down?"

Mycroft blinked, turned a little, looking for a chair before he realized that Lestrade was offering space on the bed. He sat down awkwardly on the duvet, much to Lestrade's amusement. They sat and lay in calm silence, thinking.

Mycroft absently reached over and rubbed Lestrade's arm in a way, that he observed, brought slight comfort to the drowsy man. "Sleep, you've got work tomorrow." he said. Lestrade just settled his head back onto his pillow, grunting stubbornly in reply and Mycroft was vaguely reminded of a child Sherlock refusing to sleep. Sherlock never really did get around to sleeping routinely.

Lestrade, Mycroft noted, looked very much like he was in his younger years when he was resting and completely relaxed. He thought of a vaguely-remembered photo of the DI still in the academy, Mycroft had run across it when he was doing a background check on the man after Lestrade and Sherlock had wrapped up their first case together.

He had thick, dark brown hair back then, though, slightly curly and a little too long to be considered 'sharp'. He had very expressive eyes, deep brown and very, very curious, and a hairless cherubic face with a ready and wry smile. Mycroft couldn't be certain how old he was then, but he couldn't have been older than twenty-five when the picture was taken.

Now, Lestrade was thinner and his hair was silver, he had stress lines and tired eyes that told of emotional scars. But Mycroft liked him better for it, it just went to show that Lestrade was no longer a naive young boy.

When Lestrade slept, his emotions were writ clear apon his features. He smiled when he dreamt of happy moments, frowned when he recalled a particularly gruesome case, and awoke when feelings of regret were too strong to let him sleep. Mycroft found he quite enjoyed watching over the DI as he slept.

Mycroft was broken out of his reverie as Lestrade let out a soft contented sigh and his breathing deepened. He was fast asleep. Mycroft chuckled a little and gave his arm one last pat before making his silent exit.

* * *

><p>Mycroft was gone the next morning. Lestrade yawned as he stumbled sleepily into the kitchen. Mycroft always left him a note saying he'd be out when he was called in for an emergency and today was no different. There was a crisp slip of paper with Mycroft's flowing handwriting resting on the kitchen counter weighed down by a salt shaker from the condiments dish. Lestrade picked it up.<p>

_Out conducting political damage control for the day. _Lestrade let out a slight chuckle at that. _And, before you get to work, there are a few things I must advise you on._ Lestrade raised his eyebrow but continued reading. _1. We cannot be certain that your life is no longer in danger. Keep an eye out for trouble and avoid it at all costs._ Of course Mycroft would think to number his advice, was all Lestrade could think when he read that. _2. You must assume that MI-5 is watching you. They have good intentions, but illogical reasons. Nevertheless, do not attempt to keep them from doing so. 3. If you happen to find information regarding the case, please contact me. 4. NEVER find yourself alone in public. Keep a friend or collegue with you at all times, for safety's sake. On another note, your flat has been tidied up and is once again habitable. Feel free to retain it, but know that my door will always be open. Best of luck at work. -MH_

Lestrade smiled and sat down with a cup of coffee. He had time before he was expected in the Yard. He was in no hurry.

* * *

><p>"Oh, God is it good to have you back, Sir!" Donovan sighed in relief when she entered the office and found Lestrade already behind his desk like he had never left.<p>

"Morning to you too, Donovan." Lestrade grinned back, picking up the top one page of a whole stack of paperwork to be done. He waited for a hurrying copper to pass by the office before lowering his voice a few notches. "I heard there was a break-in."

Donovan glanced around to make sure nobody would overhear them and neared the desk. "Nothing was taken, but the office was in shambles!" She shuddered. "It was horrible! The damage caused by throwing paperwork around, alone, took days to rectify!"

Lestrade chuckled. "Don't worry, I've been wisely restricted to desk-duty until I'm fit for field work."

Donovan rolled her eyes and let out another sigh of relief. "Thank God."

"On another matter," Lestrade rummaged around in the papers on his desk. "I got a call from Homeland Security on the Holmes case." Donovan raised her eyebrow suspiciously. "They just called in to make sure they wern't missing any evidence on the case, said something about recreating the scene. Don't ask me what they're up to. You don't happen to have a list of all the stuff we brought in, do you?"

Donovan shook her head. "No, I'll ask around for it, though."

Lestrade smiled at her gratefully. "Thanks Donovan."

Donovan shook her head with a wry smile. "As always the copper, not five minutes back in the office and already up to solving crimes."

"You won't believe how slow and boring my sick leave was!" Lestrade muttered back, then a look of horrified shock crossed his face. "God, I'm beginning to sound like Sherlock!"

Donovan just nodded to him understandingly and stared at the towering pile of paperwork on his desk. "I'll get you a cup of coffee."

Lestrade sighed, surveying his desk, mentally working out how long it was going to take him to finish all of his paperwork. "Thanks Donovan. I'm going to need it." He cracked his knuckles and got to work.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

"You're sure you don't want to come in for tea, or perhaps a pint?" Lestrade asked that night when he and Donovan pulled up at his flat. "It's the least I can do."

Donovan shook her head lightly. "Nah, I've got Anderson waiting on me at home."

Lestrade blinked. "I really didn't need to know that, Donovan. What you do when off-duty is none of my business." he said wryly and dismounted the police vehicle. "Thanks for giving me a lift."

"Don't be like that." Donovan said, "It's the least I can do for a stubborn mate who won't willingly ask for help even if he needed it." She smiled cheekily.

Lestrade rolled his eyes at her. "Oh, get on home, Donovan! Drive safe." Donovan waved from the driver's seat and pulled off the curb.

Lestrade turned toward his flat with a vague feeling of deja vu. His front door never intimidated him as much as it did now. He pushed his key into the lock and, holding his breath, turned it.

It gave away with a smooth click.

Lestrade let out a tremendous sigh of relief and entered the flat. "Lestrade! You're here, finally!" Lestrade jumped, letting out a surprised yelp.

He flicked the light on, eyes falling onto the figure curled up on his living room sofa, and had the rare urge to cry. "Sherlock, bloody, Holmes." Lestrade tossed his keys onto a table situated by the door and entered the living room. "I hope you have a good reason for showing up here." he grumbled. "Or I will be very annoyed."

Sherlock watched him, interest slightly piqued. "Never had that surprised reaction from you when I showed up in your flat all the times before." he mused.

"You haven't done it in a while." Lestrade defended himself.

Sherlock sniffed. "Did you get new air freshner?"

Lestrade mimicked his action and smelled a tinge of lavender. Mycroft's men and their bloody efficiency! "Er, yeah." He blushed a little.

"Lestrade!" The DI in question swiveled around to see John strolling out of his kitchen with a mug of tea. "Sorry for all this, Sherlock insisted we stop by. He wouldn't let me call ahead to warn you about it. You don't mind me making myself a cup of tea, do you?"

Lestrade waved at him dismissively. "Oh, don't worry about it. Make yourself at home." He turned back to Sherlock. "I thought you were on a case in Geneva."

Sherlock scowled back. "Yes, Mycroft's handiwork. Wrapped up the case there, lost Mycroft's men, and came back." He shrugged his shoulders like it was nothing.

Lestrade nodded grimly. "I'm calling your brother."

Sherlock scoffed at him while he fished his mobile from his pocket. "It's Mycroft, don't you think he'd already know we're back by now?"

"Yeah, probably." Lestrade nodded as he rang Mycroft up. "Still, wouldn't hurt, would it?"

_"Hello?"_ Mycroft's oily voice eminated from the speaker.

"Mycroft." Lestrade greeted. "Just thought to tell you, Sherlock and John are back in London... and they've broken into my flat."

There was a brief silence on the other end. _"I know."_ Mycroft replied a little sheepishly.

Lestrade sighed in exasperation and rolled his eyes. "You're right outside, arn't you?" He nodded to John who opened the door and let the elder Holmes in. They both put their phones away.

"Hello, Sherlock." Mycroft greeted icily. "Dr. Watson, welcome back." Sherlock ignored him and John responded with a meek 'hello'.

"You all settle whatever you need to settle, I'm going to make some coffee." Lestrade sighed, trudging tiredly into the safety of his kitchen.

"Sherlock." Mycroft voiced reprimandingly.

"Mycroft!" Sherlock shot back, mimicking him mockingly.

"Boys, please?" John groaned, Mycroft and Sherlock both shot looks of annoyance at him. "Riiight, I take it you two have never been introduced to a wonderful little thing called 'time out'."

"_Way_ out, please." Lestrade chimed in, returning to the living room with a mug of coffee and a cup of tea with a slice of lemon for Mycroft. Just the way Mycroft liked his tea. Sherlock raised his eyebrow. Interesting...

"Ah, yes, Detective Inspector." Mycroft smiled gratefully at him, taking the offered cup. "I must have a few private words with you that these children must not hear."

Lestrade furrowed his eyebrow in bewilderment, but nodded his head in the direction of the kitchen. "Right, okay." They disappeared through the door but kept it open just a crack to keep an eye on the two in the living room.

From his point of view, John could vaguely make out Mycroft and Lestrade shuffling awkwardly in the kitchen, voices lowered. "What do you think they're talking about?" he asked Sherlock.

"Probably the case." Sherlock shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly.

"Since when have Mycroft and Lestrade worked together on cases? I thought that was your thing." John asked, confused.

"Don't be ridiculous, John, it's a simple matter of thinking about the chronicle order of events." John quirked his eyebrows at him curiously. "Lestrade works with me and has only met Mycroft recently on the case that very nearly took his life."

"Okay..." John nodded slowly. "Following you so far."

"And well..." Sherlock grimaced. "There's really no way of wording this nicely; Mycroft fancies Lestrade."

John's eyes widened comically. "No!"

Sherlock snickered back. "Oh, yes. It's quite pathetic, really. I don't think Lestrade even knows it yet."

"Anyway, back to the chronicle order of events?" John steered Sherlock back to the main topic.

"Yes, Lestrade and Mycroft got along quite civily while the case was in police hands, then Lestrade saves Mycroft and the case is transferred to Homeland Security. It's not at all strange to assume that Mycroft either began avoiding Lestrade for this reason, or made his advances more noticable." Sherlock shrugged his shoulders. "Judging by the fact that Mycroft trusts Lestrade enough to involve him in the continuation of the investigation and the fact that Lestrade seems accustomed to making Mycroft tea in just the way he likes it, we can assume that they've been in contact many times while we were in Geneva."

"Who would've thought...?" John chuckled, shaking his head in amazement. "Lestrade and Mycroft."

"But, I think it's safe to say that Lestrade is still oblivious to Mycroft's interest in him." Sherlock added. "Besides, it's a lost cause, the two of them."

"Why do you think that?" John asked, furrowing his eyebrows. Sherlock turned to make sure the two in the kitchen were well out of earshot.

"Mycroft lives by the rule 'never attach oneself to anything one cannot walk out of in five seconds flat'. In accordance to that, Lestrade isn't the type to stem a relationship with a person he doesn't fully trust. Seeing as Mycroft won't let himself act on his fancy, he will never show more than a polite civility toward Lestrade. Lestrade, in turn, simply cannot trust a manner of man like Mycroft." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Besides, both men are the type to put their work before everything else, I can't see how it could ever work out."

He looked over to see John smirking at him. "Careful, Sherlock, you almost sound worried." he teased.

Sherlock scowled. "Of course, I won't forgive Mycroft if he hurts Lestrade." he responded sarcastically. "I refuse to wear in another DI." John just smiled at him indulgently.

"You two gossiping?" Lestrade called out, poking his head out of the kitchen door.

Sherlock replied 'yes' just as John responded 'no'. Mycroft emmerged from the kitchen after Lestrade and tutted at the two. "As much as I value Sherlock's honesty and Dr. Watson's manners, you two really need to get your stories straight." He nodded to Lestrade and whacked Sherlock lightly with his umbrella. "Come along, Sherlock, I think it's time for you to get back to Baker Street."

Sherlock rubbed the spot where he was hit and glared up at Mycroft. "So I take it it's safe to be back? Have you caught your man?"

Lestrade and Mycroft exchanged a look. "Not exactly, but there's no impending threat anymore." Mycroft replied. Sherlock finally peeled himself off Lestrade's sofa and stauntered toward the front door with Mycroft following on his heels.

"So, what were you two talking about?" John asked as Lestrade handed him his coat.

Lestrade raised his hands in defeat. "Whatever Sherlock told you we were talking about, I'm sure." and answered vaguely and shooed all three of his unexpected guests out of his flat, locking the door securely after them.

Only then did he let out a sigh of relief.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

"Sir!" Lestrade's head jumped up at his sergeant's call.

"What is it, Donovan?" he asked, putting down his pen and wearily shaking out his tired wrist.

Donovan entered his office and waved a file aloft. "The list of evidence taken from the scene of the Holmes case, you asked for it?"

Lestrade eagerly took the file from her with a quick and sincere thanks. He looked over the scrawled list and frowned. House keys, broken vase fragments, a fire poker, a glass paper weight... the list went on. "This is everything?" he asked, Donovan nodded. Now, just need to cross check it with all the evidence that MI-5 has and extrapolate. He pushed himself out of his seat and grabbed his suit jacket.

"Going somewhere?" Donovan asked when he saw the movement.

"I need air." Lestrade told her.

"Right after you recieve a list of evidence from a case that isn't under our jurisdiction anymore?" Donovan raised an eyebrow. At Lestrade's pointed look, she shrugged her shoulders. "Right, I didn't see anything."

"Thanks." Lestrade grinned and left the office.

He exited the building and looked around, quickly spotting what he was looking for. He strolled casually across the street and a short way down the road to knock on the window of a surreptitious white van. The window rolled open a moment later. "What can I do for you, mate?" The driver, a young man with a bland expression, asked.

"Uh, hello. I'm DI Lestrade." Lestrade handed the driver the file. "Give that to the head of your investigation, tell him - or her, that Mister Holmes is awaiting some kind of response from him-... or her." Lestrade grimaced a little. "See you, then."

And he walked back into the Yard.

* * *

><p><em>MI-5 response negative. All evidence bagged by New Scotland Yard accounted for, but no sign of the 'something' in question. -MH<em> Lestrade groaned at the text message on his phone.

John turned from Sherlock, who was studying details on a case, to him. "Something the matter?" he asked concernedly.

"No, no everything is fine." Lestrade shook his head as he keyed in a reply to Mycroft. _Maybe it would help if I knew what the 'something' is! -Lestrade_

"Kidnapper is the mother. Elementary, not worth my time." Sherlock sighed, throwing the file back on Lestrade's desk. "Don't you have any more interesting cases?"

"No, if you wanted the serial killer cases, you should drop by Dimmock's." Lestrade told him absently as he recieved another text from Mycroft. _That is of national security! -MH_

"Why DI Dimmock? Don't you always get the interesting cases?" Sherlock whined.

"I got shot." Lestrade responded blandly. "Exactly what does your brother do?"

John's eyes bulged. "Wait-! You got shot?"

"Mycroft says he holds a minor position in the government but, truth be told, he probably owns every inch of it, save the crown." Sherlock responded over John's worried splutterings, shrugging his shoulders. "Wouldn't suit him, anyway."

"Ah, thought so." Lestrade nodded, typing another response to Mycroft. _As a man who holds a 'minor position in the government', I'm sure you can work something out. I'm not against helping your investigation, but I draw the line at you expecting me to find something without telling me what I'm looking for. -Lestrade_

"No-... hold on, you got shot!" John persisted.

"Yes, in the torso, punctured left lung, I take it?" Sherlock looked at Lestrade.

"Uh, yeah. Missed the heart, no worries." Lestrade nodded distractedly. _I must tell you that you are asking far too much of me. -MH_

John looked positively appalled. "'No worries'?"

"That's what he said, I do hope you're not hard of hearing, because then I'll have to get my skull back from Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Can't have that, please not that, Sherlock." Lestrade sent an exasperated look at the consulting detective. _I vaguely remember you calling me 'tenacious' once. -Lestrade_

"Well, that's not important." Sherlock waved him off. "What is important are the cases!"

"I told you! I got shot and restricted to desk-work." Lestrade shot back. "I'm not getting the homicides!"

"Are you alright, Lestrade?" John asked worriedly like any good doctor. "Are you sure it's fine to be back in the office?"

"Yes, John, I'm fine." Lestrade nodded curtly.

"Well then give me your case!" Sherlock demanded childishly.

Finally, the verbal commotion in the room died down. Lestrade blinked at Sherlock. "'My case'? You've went through all of my cases already and turned down every single one of them!"

"Then, explain why you've been texting Mycroft for the last ten minutes?" Sherlock challenged.

"Oh, for God's sakes! Shut up! All of you!" The three men in Lestrade's office jumped at Donovan's yell. "Quit jabbering your mouthes off! And you-...!" She stomped into the office and jabbed a finger into Sherlock's chest. "Lay off Lestrade! He's only been back in the office for three days!"

"Three days..! You're serious?" John gasped.

"You're repeating everything everyone says, John, _do_ try harder to keep up." Sherlock rolled his eyes at him.

"Yeah, that's nice, and all." Lestrade said, getting up and taking his coat as he read his newly recieved text. "I'm leaving the office to you Donovan."

"'Need some air', again?" Donovan crossed her arms. "Seriously, no Holmes could ever have a good effect on anybody."

"No, probably not." Lestrade smiled and left the office. _And I stand by my original impression of you. I'll be waiting outside. -MH_

* * *

><p>Lestrade jogged outside to the waiting black vehicle and tapped on a tinted passenger window. The window opened and Mycroft poked his head out. "Not a word. Inside."<p>

Lestrade stepped back to let the door open and hopped in as Mycroft scooted to the other side to make room for him. "So what is it?" Lestrade asked, listening to the car idling on the side of the street.

"You understand that the information I give you here cannot be passed on to another soul, yes?" Mycroft asked, Lestrade nodded wordlessly. "It's a NOC list." Mycroft told him after a brief pause.

"A NOC list?" Lestrade parroted.

"Yes, some of our freelance undercover agents approached us with the condition that, they will work as our informants but if they are caught, the government cannot turn a blind eye and wash its hands of them. They wanted us to provide them proof that they are working under our orders. The group of agents are listed on that NOC list. Anyone who gets their hands on the list will know the names of every single last one of them." Mycroft explained. "Our agents are scattered across the globe. Should the list fall into the wrong hands and become publicly exposed, World War III won't come close to describing the catastrophic results impending."

Lestrade pressed his lips into a thin line grimly. "Wow, it's that serious?"

"I think it's a bit more than 'that serious', Lestrade." Mycroft sighed, suddenly looking a few years older. "Someone knows about the list and is looking for it. We have to find it before they do."

Lestrade nodded soberly. "The list, is it written on paper? Is it on a hard disk? USB?"

Mycroft frowned almost miserably. "That's the problem." he said. "I was informed that the list was to be sent to my abode, but when I got there..." He threw his hands into the air. "Well the rest, as they say, is history!"

"So you were almost killed before you even got the chance to make sure the list arrived safely?" Lestrade clarified, Mycroft nodded, quite embarrassed. "Great."

"We are both looking for something we know the grave importance of, but don't know in what form it is in." he frowned.

"Sorry-...wait, who did you say was the list being sent from? If we asked them, they'd be able to tell us, wouldn't they?" Lestrade pointed out.

"A very good idea, though, I've already tried that. The list was sent directly from one of the agents who's name is on the list. Last we heard from him, he was dropped into Afghasnistan and we lost contact."

"Lovely, um..." Lestrade thought for a moment. "The agent's mates? Have you asked them?" he asked.

Mycroft merely raised an eyebrow at him. "National security, remember? I don't think our agent would've told anybody about it."

Lestrade sighed. "I'm running out of ideas."

Mycroft mirrored his expression. "That makes two of us."

"Sherlock?" Lestrade suggested.

"Keep him out of it by all means possible." Mycroft groaned. "Give Sherlock a glass house and he'd be the first to throw stones. Him being on the case is the last thing I want."


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

Lestrade knew from the start that this would be a bad idea. He nervously waved at the elderly police archivist. "Mister Billis, how are you?" he greeted with a tense smile.

"Aw, no worse than you, I hear." The police archivist, Constable Gary Billis, grinned at him. "Heard ya went and got popped! How're ya still alive, kidda?" Billis had been around since before Adam and Eve, he'd watched more than half the constables and detectives in the office through the academy, Lestrade included. It counted for alot in Lestrade's books. He really hated what he was about to do.

"Ah, I'm fine." Lestrade smiled. "But I need a really, really big favor from you."

Billis raised his eyebrows. "An' what's that?" he asked suspiciously.

Lestrade glanced around to make sure they wern't overheard. "I need to take a look at some evidence." he told him.

Billis's face lit up. "Hah! Ya got me there good, mate! Thought you was up to no good!" He slapped Lestrade on the shoulder. "An' what case would that be?"

Lestrade tood a calming breath. "The Holmes case." he stated. "The one from several weeks back."

Billis blinked and took a look in a tablet. "Sorry, kidda, all evidence was gone an' transferred to... Homeland Security?" His eyes widened at Lestrade. "What're ya gettin' yerself into, lad?"

Lestrade brushed the question aside. "And you're sure there's nothing left here?" Billis nodded confidently. Lestrade glanced around again and grimaced. "You wouldn't-... You couldn't happen to let me take a peak at the reports on the case, could you?"

Billis's eyes grew to the size of saucers. "Course not! 'S against regulations! Wot's gotten into ya, kidda?"

"Please?" Lestrade folded his hands pleadingly. "It's very important."

Billis melted a little at the look. "Ya know, there was once a time ya couldn't break the rules to save yer life." he sighed.

"Ah, Mister Billis," Lestrade smiled a little, thinking about a certain consulting detective. "you have no idea."

"Ya havn't gone off the straight an' narrow, have ya?" Billis asked sadly.

Lestrade laughed back and shook his head. "No, not far, at least. Just... bended it a little?"

"I reckon you don't got the proper paperwork for this either?" Billis asked perceptively. Lestrade grimaced and shook his head. Billis studied his earnest expression as he debated what to do. "Ya were always a good kidda, even though I can't never get yer name." Billis shook his head. "I'm probably gone cuckoos..." He wandered off into the archives and returned shortly with a stack of reports. "They didn'a come from me." he declared.

Lestrade took the pile with a grateful look. "If it's any consolation, Mister Billis, you might've just had a hand in saving many lives."

"Ah, get on, kidda." Billis waved him off kindly. "Off with ya! An' don't get caught!"

"Oh, I won't." Lestrade murmured to himself and left.

* * *

><p>"And what's this?" Mycroft asked when he dropped by Lestrade's flat and found the living room littered with report filings with Lestrade set in the eye of the mess.<p>

"Well I thought, if there was any chance that the people who are after the List were present at your flat or something suspicious happened and I missed it, maybe one of my officers entered it in their report." Lestrade said, throwing down the report he was holding with a sigh.

"It's a very fine line of thinking, Lestrade." Mycroft assured him, picking up a file.

"The problem is, there's nothing out of the ordinary." Lestrade groaned, collapsing onto his side on his sofa, rubbing his tired eyes. "There were a few civilians that we had to drive out of the premises but nobody stood out in particular, all those who were there were routinely checked and questioned." He opened his eyes when he thought Mycroft was being quieter than usual. "What is it?" Mycroft was immersed in reading a report.

Mycroft put the report he was reading aside and picked up another one, and then another. Then his face lit up. "Lestrade, I love you, now and forever." Mycroft gushed, both froze at the strange choice of wording.

Lestrade blinked in bewilderment but let a smile crawl slowly across his face. "Does... that mean you found something?" he asked hesitantly through his startled blush.

Mycroft cleared his throat embarrassedly. "Er, yes." Was that a dusting of pink on his cheeks? "Yes, I've found a minor inconsistency."

"And what is that?" Lestrade asked, eager to know.

"On many of these reports, it mentions several of my personal effects that the hospital confiscated." Lestrade nodded. "Among them, a coat." Mycroft paused, letting Lestrade hang in suspense. "During the time of the drowning... I wasn't wearing a coat."

Lestrade blinked. Oh-... _oh! _He grinned as full realization came over him. "Your effects would've been passed along to next of kin..."

Mycroft picked up his umbrella and gave it a cheery twirl. "I think it's time to visit Baker Street."

* * *

><p>"Evening, Mrs, Hudson!" Lestrade greeted cheerfully when the landlady opened the door for them.<p>

"Night, DI Lestrade, ..._night_." Mycroft corrected him with a smirk. "I'm afraid it's far too late to be considered evening."

"What are you doing here, Mycroft." Sherlock groused from the top of the stairs leading to the flat. "I hope you're not here just to annoy me."

"Not at all, Sherlock." Mycroft chuckled. "Not this time, at least."

"Sherlock," Lestrade took over. "what happened to Mycroft's personal effects from the incident?"

Sherlock scoffed. "You sound like you expected me to keep them."

Lestrade paled and Mycroft gripped the handle of his umbrella hard. "Sherlock, don't tell me you... threw them away?" At Sherlock's raised eyebrow. "Please tell me you didn't!"

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders. "But I did."


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

"Mycroft," Lestrade grumbled, lowering his gaze to his feet. "I'm afraid I'm beginning to feel the urge to violently commit murder." he admitted miserably.

Mycroft and Sherlock both raised their eyebrows at him. "And what, pray tell, do you need Mycroft's clothes for?" Sherlock inquired mockingly. "It's not like he hasn't got more."

"It's not exactly the clothes that are important, Sherlock, it's what was in one of the coat pockets." Mycroft responded mildly, but Lestrade could see his hands tremble on his umbrella.

"Well, I suppose it's too late for it." John chipped in, overhearing the conversation from inside the flat. "Sherlock threw it out."

"Excuse me, dearies." Mrs. Hudson interrupted, disappearing into her flat and emmerging with a neatly folded pile of clothes. "I don't suppose these are what you're looking for?" She tutted at Sherlock. "You know I can't let you throw around things that don't belong to you."

Lestrade took the garments from her and rummaged through the coat pockets. His hands froze, fingers closing around a small object. He pulled out a dirty USB drive and handed it to Mycroft who took it and stared in amazement at the landlady.

"Mrs. Hudson, you are an angel!" Lestrade planted a quick kiss on the little lady's cheek.

"Well I'll be damned!" Mycroft chuckled, shaking his head at the turnout. He pocketed the little piece of technology. "I'll have it checked out immediately."

"Yes! How's _that_ for old-fashioned detecting!" Lestrade laughed, clapping Mycroft heartily on the shoulder. And much to Sherlock's surprise, Mycroft showed no aversion to the action. "Well, goodnight, Sherlock, John-..." Lestrade nodded gratefully to Mrs. Hudson. "...Mrs. Hudson, goodnight."

Mycroft gallantly held the door open for Lestrade and closed it behind them. "Crisis narrowly avoided, now all we have left to do if find the people who were after this." Mycroft said, brushing a hand over the pocket that held the data.

"But how are we going to do that?" Lestrade asked. Mycroft looked at him. Lestrade caught the look and groaned. "No-...! You're not serious!" After a moment, or two, of contemplation. "Do you think they'd fall for that?"

"May I take that as a 'yes you will cooperate'?" Mycroft teased, raising an eyebrow.

Lestrade sighed and shook his head. "That's the problem with me! Can't say no to a Holmes!"

He grumbled something grumpily under his breath and stepped away from the flat's front steps. Mycroft smiled, shook his head, and followed.

* * *

><p>"So, I take it the case you and Mycroft were investigating has been closed?" John asked the next day when he and Sherlock invaded Lestrade's office.<p>

"Yes, and no. My job is done, Mycroft is still tying up loose ends, though." Lestrade grinned. "And what are you two doing here? I thought I told you, I'm only doing desk work!" he directed at Sherlock.

"Mycroft's men are no longer breathing down your back, are they?" Sherlock noted, looking around.

"Nope! Case closed! I don't have to report back to Mycroft every five minutes." Lestrade put his dull report aside. "So then! Other than an interesting case, you both here for anything?"

Sherlock blinked. "No."

John whacked him on the shoulder. "Sherlock came for the cases, I came to make sure you're alright."

Lestrade threw his hands up and rolled his eyes. "Oh, for Heaven's sakes! Not this again!" John blinked, confused. "I've been through this with nearly the whole Yard, if I wasn't alright someone would've noticed."

"They're not doctors." John pointed out.

"But they've sported their fair share of wounds." Lestrade shot back. "For the last time! I'm alright!" he smiled, though slightly exasperated. "Thanks for the concern, though." He checked his watch. "Hey, you two want to go out for coffee, or something? It's about time I get a bite to eat."

Sherlock shook his head. "I've got to get back home or my brain experiment will corrode." He then waltzed out.

Lestrade and John shared a significant look. "Coffee?" Lestrade offered again.

"Oh, God yes." John rolled his eyes.

* * *

><p>"So, what's been going on with you while we've been gone?" John asked as they walked down the street toward the nearby coffee shop. "You and Mycroft seem to be getting along quite nicely."<p>

"Ah, it's the case." Lestrade shook his head. "Sherlock wasn't around to do his dirty work so Mycroft had to chip in the investigation himself."

"Oh? And how is it?" John asked curiously. "Working with Mycroft?"

"Well, like Sherlock, he just knows things before I do, mostly because he's got his minions investigating for him. Although, he doesn't make you feel quite so dumb as Sherlock does. But he has the ability to make you feel very, very small with a simple look." Lestrade and John chuckled. "At least he's got better manners than Sherlock."

"I know the feeling." John rolled his eyes. "They're like polar opposites, sometimes."

"But they're both completely mad, maddening, and absolutely brilliant." Lestrade shook his head. "We're in for a whole lot of trouble, arn't we?"

"Cheers to that." John chuckled. Then he heard a noise behind them and turned. "Lestrade, look out!"

He grabbed Lestrade's sleeve and threw his weight to the side just as a hooded figure lunged at them with a knife. Lestrade and John fell to the pavement with a grunted 'oof'. Lestrade groaned and gripped his upper arm where the knife had inflicted a superficial wound.

John jumped to his feet and took a defensive stance, standing between Lestrade and his assailent. "Don't you think that's quite enough?" Three heads whirled around to see Mycroft exiting a nearby parked car. Then, from out of nowhere, several plain-clothed agents milled out to apprehend the hooded man and wrestled him to the ground.

With a nod from Mycroft, the hood was pulled back. Lestrade's stomache dropped into his feet. "PC Carter." he gasped. "No way."

Mycroft's eyes hardened and he waved to his men. "Take him away."

* * *

><p>"Hold still, will you?" John expelled through gritted teeth as he tried to stitch up Lestrade's wound.<p>

Lestrade stilled for a few moments before Mycroft walked into the room. He jumped up to meet the government agent, eliciting an exasperated groan from John. "Mycroft." Lestrade greeted grimly.

"Lestrade." Mycroft inclined his head. "How are your injuries?" he inquired politely.

"They would be better if he could just stay still for one moment and let me finish stitching him up!" John exclaimed, Mycroft sent Lestrade a reprimanding look.

"Dr. Watson, DI Lestrade and I must speak in private, could you leave us for a moment?" Mycroft asked. John threw his hands up and stalked out, rolling his eyes. "Sit down Lestrade." Mycroft said, pushing Lestrade back into his seat and putting his umbrella aside.

"I can't believe that Carter-..." Lestrade shook his head. "He's a good lad, Mycroft."

"And a great many good people kill." Mycroft said patiently, taking John's abandoned needle and began stitching Lestrade's arm up from where John was forced to leave off. "As much as I hate to say it, it's not a rare thing."

"How could he even know about the List?" Lestrade wondered aloud. "Carter's only been a copper for about a year, he's fresh out of the academy."

"I imagine that he's merely the tip of the iceberg. Like you say, it's likely that he didn't know about the List and was being manipulated by someone else." Mycroft briefly stopped his administrations to hand Lestrade a file. "But he did know about you, that fact is undeniable."

Lestrade shot Mycroft a puzzled look and opened the file. "He changed his name, dyed his hair, and didn't stand out much. He wouldn't have gotten your attention." Mycroft added. Sure enough, the picture clipped to the file was of PC Carter, but the name wasn't. "James Rylie. Son of Simon Rylie, a serial killer. You had a great part in arresting him when you were a sergeant. Simon Rylie was convicted and sentenced to death. I can only imagine that James Rylie entered the New Scotland Yard to get close to you... to take revenge." Mycroft expounded.

Lestrade let out a sigh and tossed the file aside, hanging his head. "I don't believe it. In the New Scotland Yard, the one place I thought I had the right to feel completely safe."

Mycroft finished stitching his wound and wrapped a bandage around it. "I know you won't forgive me for this, Lestrade." he said. "But until we find proof telling otherwise, I think it would be prudent to assume that James Rylie wasn't working alone in the Yard."

Lestrade's head jumped up. "You can't seriously think that!" he exclaimed incredulously.

"Maybe I don't think it, maybe I do, it doesn't matter what I think." Mycroft sighed. "The people who were manipulating James Rylie knew, for a fact, that the Scotland Yard didn't bag the List. That's why they thought you might've had it and simply hadn't entered it into the list of evidence. James Rylie wasn't working on that case, there was no way he could've known that."

Lestrade glared. "So you want me to doubt my subordinates? What do you want me to do? Spy on them for you?" He jumped up and began pacing agitatedly.

"If it's at all possible." Mycroft put in before he even knew what he was saying.

"They're my friends, Mycroft!" Lestrade roared. "I trust them!"

"You trusted James Rylie." Mycroft pointed out quietly, inwardly wincing at how cold he sounded.

A frigid, drawn-out silence fell over the two of them. Then Lestrade dropped his head back onto his shoulders and let out a humorless laugh, Mycroft narrowed his eyes at him. "You know," Lestrade said to him quietly. "John and I were just talking about how different you and Sherlock were. We said you two were almost like polar opposites." He looked at Mycroft. "Oh wait, now I'm seeing the similarities."

"If it means that I don't trust people who may wish me harm, I would be happy to be similar to Sherlock in that respect." Mycroft responded slowly.

"And tell me, when was the last time you trusted anybody?" Lestrade sneered.

"I make it a point not to make that mistake." Mycroft shrugged his shoulders carelessly.

"'Mistake'...?" Lestrade let out a slight disbelieving chuckle. "You and your spies, you think you're so clever, you're never wrong, nobody's as smart as you. You're not a god, you know! You're not infallible! Haven't you ever second-guessed yourself? Haven't you ever been so very, very wrong about something, or someone? You're always spying on people, always glancing over your shoulder waiting for someone to stab you in the back. You can't just read someone's files or watch them through the CCTV and say you know them!" Lestrade was only half-aware that he was shouting by now.

His words were meant to hurt, but the government agent didn't show a single sign of being affected. Lestrade knew he was saying horrible things, things he didn't even mean to say, but he was far too angry at Mycroft to care.

"You don't trust people, you don't know them! And if you think I'm going to spy on my friends for you, then you really don't know me either." Lestrade spat. He pressed his lips together and backed off a few paces, urging himself to calm down. "And why would you? Because trusting me would be such a big mistake." There was a hurt look in his eye that mocked Mycroft, daring him to tell the DI otherwise.

Mycroft opened his mouth to respond but his words died in his throat. He hung his head a little and swallowed thickly. He wasn't infallible, Lestrade was certainly proven right about that point. He could easily handle anybody, even Sherlock, saying those things to him. So why were those words so different from Lestrade's lips? What should've been a few simple drops off the duck's beak felt more like a slap to the face, or a cold knife in the gut.

Even more so because he knew that what Lestrade said was true. It terrified him a little, the effect Lestrade was having on him. He was undeniably changing inside. He shared a certain camaraderie with Lestrade and also felt hurt, so much like he'd never felt before living with Lestrade. He irrationally wished for things he'd never realized he wanted. And the mother of all realizations; he didn't want to hurt Lestrade. But his highly-manipulative politician's mentality obviously didn't get the memo.

Mycroft felt something in his chest clearly upset and he underreacted. He had nothing to say in his defense.

"You know what, Mycroft?" Lestrade said coldly, leaning in close to the government agent, entirely unaware of the man's inner turmoil. "You've been a spook for so long, you don't even remember what it's like to be human." He pulled back. "I trust my subordinates because they're my friends, and the closest thing to 'family' that I've got. Do you understand that? So go ahead, carry out your investigations. But don't ask me to do your dirty work for you."

He turned on his heel and stalked out, slamming the door behind him.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

That night, when Lestrade finally stumbled in from work, he found a parcel on the kitchen table from Mycroft. He glared at the innocent brown paper package and debated throwing it away right then and there. Against his better judgement, he opened it. _Black tie celebration amongst a few acquaintences and collegues for the safe return of the List. It would please me greatly if you attended. -MH_ There was also an address written on the bottom of the note. Inside the parcel was a smart suit for the occassion.

Lestrade scowled. Black tie event? With Mycroft? Um, ...no. He crumpled the note in his hands and tossed it into the garbage bin. He trotted around inside the kitchen for a while, fixing himself a microwave dinner before planting himself on the living room sofa with his food.

He took a few bites of the microwave pasta and grimaced a little, if he had to be honest, Mycroft's food was definitely better, but he ate it nontheless. He watched TV for a whole of five minutes before his gaze began wandering off toward the parcel on the kitchen counter. He shook his head with a growl. "Stupid, pompous, apathic, ... manipulative-..." Lestrade was beginning to run out of adjectives. "...Git!"

He turned his TV off and grabbed his coat, snatching up his flat keys on his way outside. He needed some fresh air.

* * *

><p>It wasn't long before he found himself strolling through the green in Regent's Park, hands dug deep into his pockets, absently jingling his flat keys as he brooded. "Detective Inspector Lestrade? Is that you?" Lestrade looked up to see Mrs. Hudson walking the path up ahead of him.<p>

"Mrs. Hudson." he greeted with a nod. "Lovely night, isn't it?"

Mrs. Hudson smiled at him brightly. "It's very lovely, indeed." she replied. "I've always loved parks, my husband used to always take me on long walks before-..." she rambled, staring off in the distance.

"Sounds like a decent enough chap." Lestrade smiled kindly at her.

"What, may I ask, are you doing out here at this time of night?" Mrs. Hudson asked, swiftly changing the subject.

"Uh," Lestrade scratched the back of his neck. "just taking a walk. Need to cool off my head." He rolled his eyes. "It's all those reports. There is literally no end to them!"

Mrs. Hudson chuckled at his distressed look. "Well, I've got just the thing for bad days, Detective Inspector." She smiled mysteriously.

"And what might that be?" Lestrade asked with a smile.

"The good old 'tea and sympathy'." Mrs. Hudson chuckled. "You look like you could use a friend."

Lestrade blinked, realizing just how deprived he was of being on the recieving end of natural human kindness, John's medical concerns aside. God, he'd known the Holmeses for far too long. He smiled. "You, Mrs. Hudson, are a true Brit, through and through." Mrs. Hudson giggled coyly at the sudden praise. "Tea sounds lovely."

He offered the elderly lady his arm and the two set off toward Baker Street.

* * *

><p>Lestrade really had no idea how he had managed to convert having tea and a nice, peaceful conversation with Mrs. Hudson downstairs, to having tea and an exasperated conversation with John in the flat upstairs while Sherlock flitted around them proudly showing off his acidic compound.<p>

Oh, right. It started with Sherlock setting fire to the upstairs floor using said acidic compound.

"You should probably seriously consider lining the walls and floor with metal." Lestrade murmured wryly as he and John distractedly watched another wayward drop of the dangerous acid drip off the kitchen table onto the floor with a hiss, from the doorway.

"You know, that's not such a bad idea." John responded after a thoughtful moment, with that resigned look of his.

"Have you wrapped up the case with my brother?" Sherlock interjected suddenly from the living room.

"What? Yeah!" Lestrade called back. "Finished my part, the rest is up to Mycroft."

"And the last time you said that, you got stabbed." John reminded him.

"I only said it to explain why Mycroft's men were no longer trailing on my heels." Lestrade defended himself.

"I can't believe Mycroft let you play bait." John sighed, shaking his head.

"I can't believe I agreed." Lestrade nodded. "Well, it's all over now." he added darkly.

"Falling out already?" Sherlock scoffed. "See, John? That is why they can't have nice things."

"Sherlock..." John sighed reprimandingly.

Lestrade just stood back and watched the two flatmates bicker for a while, sipping his tea. It felt strange, Lestrade thought, just standing in the flat drinking tea without bringing a case. He was almost waiting for Mycroft to throw open the door and waltz in, umbrella twirling and looking his most imperious like he had the day Lestrade got caught up in the case.

_"You?" _he remembered Sherlock scoffing at him._ "Not come to me for help? Impossible! You would've never found out about the alibi tricks alone." _Lestrade chuckled a bit at the memory. It seemed so long ago, yet felt like yesterday.

"The alibi tricks..." Lestrade breathed, suddenly paling.

"What was that?" John asked, distracted from his verbal fight against Sherlock's experiments. "Lestrade, are you alright? You've gone a bit pale."

_"It's likely that PC Carter didn't know about the List and was being manipulated by someone else." _Mycroft had said. _"The people who were manipulating James Rylie knew, for a fact, that the Scotland Yard didn't bag the List. That's why they thought you might've had it and simply hadn't entered it into the list of evidence. James Rylie wasn't working on that case, there was no way he could've known that." _Lestrade's mind positively purred with activity, images and words spinning around in his brain.

_"Simple psychology, you thought the murderer was the same person as the thief." _How right Sherlock was when he said that!

"Lestrade?" Lestrade blinked, startled when he found John concernedly waving a hand in front of his face. "You alright, mate?"

"I was wrong." Lestrade murmured. "I was wrong about the case. It's not finished yet!" He put his cup down and rushed for the door. "Goodnight, Sherlock, John!" He called over his shoulder before slamming the door hazardly after himself on his way out.

"Is he alright?" John asked when the DI was gone.

"Oh, let him have his moment of eureka." Sherlock waved him off. "From my knowledge, they come few and far between."

* * *

><p>Lestrade pulled out his phone from his pocket and dialed Mycroft's phone as he jogged along the street looking for a cab. He groaned when his call was redirected to voicemail. Mycroft told him once that he sometimes turned his phone off when he was in the presence of very, very important dignitaries. Just who were the 'collegues' Mycroft referred to in his note?<p>

Speaking of the note, didn't it have an address written on it?

Lestrade found a cab and drove back to his flat.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

"Mister Holmes! May I congratulate you on the exemplary conduct with which you handled this particularly delicate situation? I hear the success of this assignment was nothing short of a miracle in itself!" Mycroft smiled cordially at the bland-faced man addressing him and thanked him. He had only heard this particular speech dressed up in different words at least twenty times before.

He bored of these social gatherings quite easily and would usually excuse himself early on due to some unplanned 'emergency'. But, since the event was in his honour, this couldn't be one of those times.

"Mister Holmes." Mycroft resisted the urge to roll his eyes and plastered a smile on his face, turning.

"Oh, Hoover, it's you." he almost sighed in relief when he identified the man addressing him.

"I'll take that reaction as a compliment." Hoover grinned.

"How is your end of the case coming along?" Mycroft asked.

"James Rylie admitted to being guilty of shooting DI Lestrade and sending an assassin to kill him in the hospital, but hasn't spilled anything concerning an organization, or anything..." Hoover suddenly seemed more interested in something just beyond Mycroft's left shoulder. "...yet."

"Mister Holmes, Sir?" Mycroft startled and slowly turned around.

His breath nearly caught in his throat. Lestrade was standing behind him, awkwardly leaning most of his weight on his left leg, both hands casually in his pockets. He was wearing the suit Mycroft left on his kitchen table and, if Mycroft was to be completely honest, he looked quite dashing in it. The dark fabric of his evening suit stood in stark contrast to the colour of his hair, tailored perfectly for his size and hugged all the right places, the top button of his dress shirt was left undone and his tie was too loose to be considered 'tied smartly', but it gave off a feeling of casualness and relaxation of the wearer. It was just so Lestrade. For a moment, or two, Mycroft was at a loss for words.

"I'm glad you accepted my invitation." Mycroft smiled at him when he regained power over his tongue.

"Thanks for inviting me." Lestrade smiled back tensely. "Do you think we can talk in private?"

Mycroft glanced back at Hoover who nodded at him. "This way." He led Lestrade out of the main hall and into an empty room. "What is it Lestrade?"

"We were wrong, Mycroft." Lestrade began. "Carter, he wasn't after the List."

Mycroft bit his lip. "We've been over this already, Lestrade. And I can't say the result of it was satisfactory." he said cautiously.

"Nevermind that!" Lestrade flailed his arms. "Yes, Carter almost killed me, yes, there might be another spy in the Yard, and I'm sorry for blowing up at you, I didn't mean to, but that's not important!" Lestrade suddenly stopped, a thoughtful look on his face. "Well, it was a bit important, but you get what I mean. We can settle our differences later."

"What is the point, Lestrade?" Mycroft inquired pointedly.

"We were wrong! We assumed the person who tried to kill me was the same person who broke into my flat and office!" Mycroft blinked at him blankly. "Don't you see? Carter tried to kill me and the person after the List took the opportunity of me being in the hospital to search my flat and office! Carter wasn't on the scene of your attempted drowning, and he has alibis for the times my flat and office were broken into. I'm guessing he hasn't given you any information on any organization that knows about the List because he doesn't know anything!" After a moment of thinking, he added. "Besides, Carter hates wearing boots." He looked at Mycroft. "You have the List, you might still be in danger."

"You really believe he knows nothing about the List?" Mycroft asked, Lestrade nodded grimly. "And you came all this way to tell me? Why?"

Lestrade rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Because I'm your friend! I'm always going to keep an eye on you if I think you might be in danger, no matter how badly you piss me off. I know you're probably thinking how useless it is to have friends, and I'm sorry, but you don't get to choose! Friends look out for each other, and they trust each other... it's just what friends do." A strange look overcame Lestrade's expression. "I'm explaining the concept of friendship to a politician... definitely going on my top ten weird things never to do again."

Mycroft blinked at him in surprise. "Very well, ... friend, what do you suppose we do about the situation?"

Here, Lestrade smiled slyly. "You have the USB now, yes?" Mycroft nodded. "And you're going to pass it along to some other guy after this event and it's going to get shipped off somewhere and locked up nice and tight, correct?" Again, Mycroft nodded. "So now is the last chance to steal it?"

A look of understanding came over Mycroft's expression. "Oh, so this time around, I'm the bait?" Lestrade shrugged his shoulders and nodded. "And you're willing to bet the lives of hundreds of undercover agents to catch our man?" Lestrade grimaced, was silent for a moment, ... and nodded. "Alright. And you came here to-...?"

"Keep an eye on you." Lestrade nodded. "After all, I'm a stranger in this sort of atmosphere and, being the one to invite me, it's your responsiblity to accompany me." Lestrade winked at him. "Counter-surveilance tactic, remember? You keep an eye on all the people who approach you, I'll keep an eye out for hostiles."

Mycroft stared at him for a moment before shaking his head with a laugh. "You've thought of everything, haven't you, DI Lestrade?"

Lestrade grinned cheekily as Mycroft led him back to the main hall. "Yes, well, it's a plan of action based on a conversation taken place in a coffee shop, it's not one of my best strategies."

They took a collective breath as the music from the main hall grew louder as they approached. "You ready to go out there, where a potentially lethal terrorist who has targeted us, might be?" Mycroft asked.

"No." Lestrade responded honestly, staring at the large double-doors that separated them from the rest of the guests. "Do you-... do you have that feeling when you're called in to investigate a body that's turned up with its flesh half-rotted?" Mycroft looked at him with a horrified look. Lestrade didn't notice. "You get to the scene and prepare yourself because you know what's waiting for you, the sight, the smell, the feeling... And then you open the door, recoil, and say 'Dear God, that's awful!' because it's much worse than you imagined?"

"No." Mycroft responded hastily. "I've never seen a rotted body in my life. That's positively disgusting."

"Oh, nevermind, then." A beat, then Lestrade and Mycroft glanced at each other and let out strained giggles. "Alright, lets go."

Mycroft and Lestrade braced themselves and pushed open the double doors.

* * *

><p>"Well it's... not so bad." Lestrade said after about half-an-hour of mingling with other guests. "It's kind of bordering on boring, but that's a good thing, isn't it?" It sounded almost like he was trying to convince himself.<p>

"I suppose." Mycroft nodded. They sat down at a table and watched several couples move out onto the dance floor.

"So," Both men jumped at the voice that interrupted them quite suddenly. "when are you going to introduce me to your date, Mister Holmes?"

Mycroft turned to see Hoover smiling at them warmly. "Oh, Hoover-..! He's not my date, this is DI Lestrade of the New Scotland Yard, he was an invaluable asset to the investigation and had a great hand in getting the List back. This is as much his success as it is mine, if not, more so. DI Lestrade, Agent Hoover from Homeland Security. He is the agent leading the investigation." he introduced them.

Hoover reached over and grasped Lestrade's hand eagerly. "So you're the famous DI Lestrade Mycroft's been talking about!"

Lestrade chuckled nervously. "He's said some good things, I hope."

"Never heard a bad word, except that one time that he called you 'tenacious' in a passing remark, although I think he meant it as a compliment." Lestrade raised an eyebrow at Mycroft who quickly avoided his gaze. "Well, now! This is a party, would you like to dance?" And suddenly, Lestrade realized that Hoover hadn't yet released his hand. The sly bastard.

Lestrade blinked, looked from Hoover to Mycroft's unreadable expression, and back. "Sorry, I don't dance." he smiled apologetically.

"Oh, don't be like that! You'll do fine!" Hoover cajoled, coaxing Lestrade out of his seat and onto the dance floor. "I'll lead you."

"You'll have to." Lestrade murmured, feet shuffling awkwardly. "Look at me, tripping over my own feet, and we still haven't even started dancing!"

"Don't sweat it! Relax!" Hoover encouraged with a light-hearted laugh, snaking his right arm around Lestrade's back and taking his hand with his left as he rocked them back and forth.

'Don't sweat it? Relax?' While there might be a psychopathic spy out there out to get the List? Not possible! Lestrade let out a shaky breath and smiled tensely at Hoover, all the while, repeating a mantra in his head _'Too close, far too close for comfort, far too close...'_

Lestrade thought it was just a bit strange, there they were, two men attempting to dance and there was not a single whisper on the subject. Nobody was talking about who they were and why they were dancing together. Mycroft would explain to him, later, that this was a gathering of many people much like Mycroft. Nobody spoke because everybody was afraid of starting a shouting match. Everybody here had dirt on everybody else. Sum it up to say, everybody tended to turn a blind eye. Besides, it wasn't a secret that Hoover was homosexual. Hoover, as Mycroft told it, was a poof and proud of it.

Hoover just smiled at the nervous DI and turned them to the swell of the music. Lestrade took the opportunity to peek over Hoover's shoulder to look for Mycroft.

He wasn't where he had left him. Lestrade's heart nearly stopped cold. Then he felt something brush against his back and turned. Mycroft was twirling expertly to the music with the same woman who nursed Lestrade in the hospital. He sighed in relief.

"I take it, you're not used to attending parties like this?" Hoover leaned down a little to whisper with a kind smile.

"Can't even remember the last time I wore a black tie suit." Lestrade admitted, following Mycroft's progression out of the corner of his eye.

"It is a bit stuffy, isn't it?" Hoover chuckled. "Mister Holmes always fakes an emergency to get out of it early."

Lestrade laughed at that. "You're kidding! Myc-Mister Holmes does that? Who would've thought?" He smirked at Mycroft. Mycroft caught the look and responded with a confused one of his own.

"Now he knows we're talking about him." Hoover whispered with a snicker. "Probably thinks we're badmouthing him."

The smile on Lestrade's face grew. "He's only human, Agent Hoover."

"Jan, please." Hoover smiled, squeezing Lestrade's hand a little. "Call me Jan."

They twirled again and just as Lestrade's back was turned, Mycroft directed a scowl at them. Hoover just smiled back.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

It was hard for Lestrade to keep an eye on Mycroft through all the gyrating couples on the dance floor and he found that it worried him to no end when Mycroft wasn't in his line of sight. It was much easier to keep track of the black A-line sweetheart evening gown Mycroft's dance partner sported.

They neared each other and Lestrade timed his move perfectly.

The moment the music swelled and men twirled their lovely dance partners around, Lestrade released Hoover's hand and turned in the opposite direction, sliding smoothly between Mycroft and his dance partner, causing the lady to twirl straight into a startled Hoover's arms.

"Oh, very clever, Lestrade." Mycroft chuckled, taking Lestrade's hand and continued dancing like nothing had transpired in that moment.

"Wasn't it? I timed it perfectly!" Lestrade laughed back. "I don't care if you think me strange, but I'm quite proud of my accomplishment!" Mycroft shook his head and grinned.

"So, who was that lovely lady? If I remember correctly, she was at the hospital." Lestrade nodded his head toward the woman in question.

"Ah, yes. I don't believe you two have officially met. She is my assistant, Anthea." Mycroft told him.

"Anthea, huh? Quite a pretty lady, very tasteful, Mycroft." Lestrade teased.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and twirled Lestrade around. "She is a secretary, if you will." He raised his eyebrows meaningfully. "Nothing more."

"Alright, if you say so." Lestrade smirked. "Anyway, anybody stand out to you in particular?"

Mycroft shook his head. "Unfortunately, no. Although, it is getting late and people will soon begin to excuse themselves to get home. It would be about this time that I would also retire."

"And you should, force whoever's after the List to make his, or her, move." Lestrade suggested.

"Oh, good, I was beginning to tire of all the mundane small-talk." Mycroft sighed in relief. They broke off the dancing group and strolled casually out of the building, bidding goodnight and goodbye to the people they passed along the way.

Anthea followed them off the floor, Hoover trailing behind meekly. "It's not fair, Mister Holmes!" the MI-5 agent whined half-heartedly. "Both my dance partners abandoned me in favor of you!"

"Sorry." Lestrade apologized with an embarrassed look, Mycroft just chuckled at him.

"That is because you always choose the wrong dance partners, Hoover." They moved out into the green outside the building and walked toward the vacated parking lot.

There was a loud 'honk' and Lestrade jumped. "Swans." Mycroft smiled pointing down a small knoll to a lake.

In that moment of distraction, they heard a rush of movement behind them and Anthea let out a pained grunt. They spun around. Lestrade called out a concerned 'Anthea!' while Mycroft bellowed an indignant 'Hoover!'.

Hoover held Anthea between them and him, twisting her arm behind her back. "Oh, come on, gentlemen!" Hoover called out. "You can't honestly say you wern't expecting something like this to happen." Lestrade's eyes fell closed briefly as he muttered obscenities under his breath. So Hoover had seen straight through them and had waited for them to isolate themselves before making his move.

"Hoover." Mycroft's voice was dangerously low. "Let her go."

"Um..." Hoover inclined his head, pretending to think about it. "No, I don't think so. I quite like her." He smiled cheekily. "But in all honesty, I was hoping to get that one just to see your reaction." He raised his eyebrows and nodded toward Lestrade, Mycroft instinctively stepped between them, gripping his umbrella handle tight. "He's quite a catch, that one. I've got to give it to you, Mycroft, you really do have good tastes."

"Can I kill him?" Lestrade muttered darkly to Mycroft.

"If you've got a gun, I'd like to use it." Mycroft responded calmly.

"Yes, it's unfortunate, isn't it?" Hoover smiled, pulling out a gun. "That I've got the only gun." He pointed it at Mycroft. "The List, please, Mister Holmes-... actually, you don't mind me calling you Mycroft, do you?"

"I would appreciate if you didn't." Mycroft grumbled but complied, pulling out the USB from his trouser pocket.

"Oh don't be a stranger, Mycroft!" Hoover chuckled. "Put the List on the ground."

Mycroft did so.

"Back away, slowly." Mycroft and Lestrade exchanged glances and took a few steps backward. "Thank you." He closed one eye and aimed at a point right between Mycroft's eyebrows. "Goodbye, Mycroft Holmes."

He pulled the trigger.

Lestrade was already moving before his mind caught up to the fact that Hoover was really going to shoot. He tackled Mycroft to the ground in a half-remembered rugby move and heard the bullet whizz just past his ear before their bodies were tumbling down the knoll toward the lake.

Hoover let out a harsh curse and threw Anthea aside, diving for the USB drive.

But before he could reach it, the toe of a black shoe covered it and the other found a place on Hoover's nose. Hoover fell back with a howl of pain, clutching his face. "Ooh, I heard something crunch." Sherlock grinned at John like a child with a new toy. "Now, what was that he was saying about having the only gun?"

John rolled his eyes, training his military issued handgun at Hoover. "You know, Sherlock, I'm not actually supposed to have this gun?" he said. "I hope you won't continue broadcasting it."

Lestrade and Mycroft untangled themselves from each other with a few pained groans and lay flat on their backs, listening to the swans honk at them disapprovingly. Mycroft sat up and looked at Lestrade in amazement. "Sometimes, I really admire your will to live." he said almost reverently.

Lestrade threw his head back and laughed.

"You alright down there?" Anthea called from above.

Lestrade sat up a little and propped himself up on his elbows. "Agent Hoover thinks I'm a catch, and Mycroft admires my will to live. I don't think I've ever been so popular." he responded dryly.

Anthea raised an eyebrow. "Nothing hurt but my pride, Anthea." Mycroft assured her. "And what, may I ask, are you two doing here?" he asked Sherlock and John.

Sherlock pointed at John. "He was worried, and I was bored."

"Lestrade looked a bit pale when he left Baker Street, didn't want him collapsing without any back-up." John chimed in. "Sherlock found this address when we stopped by Lestrade's flat."

"Remind me to get a guard dog." Lestrade groaned, laying back down and entwining his fingers behind his head. "A really, _really _vicious one."

Then, of all things, it began raining.

"We should get inside." Mycroft remarked, not moving to stand yet. "Got to secure the List and take Hoover in for questioning, you have no idea how complicated this is going to be." Neither of them moved to stand while Sherlock, John, and Anthea moved inside, dragging Hoover with them. "No, seriously, we should get in before we catch colds." Mycroft continued, trying to sound convincing. Lestrade still didn't respond. "Lestrade?"

He turned to see that Lestrade had closed his eyes and seemed, for all the world, asleep. Lestrade sensed Mycroft's gaze on him and opened one eye. "Oh, come on, Mycroft! Let it rain on England for five minutes. At least you've got an umbrella!"

Mycroft snorted, shaking his head with a smile. "Like a child without a care in the world..." He snapped open his umbrella and held it over the both of them.

Honk! Lestrade sat bolt upright with a start. Then he scowled at the swans who were beginning to cross over to the other side of the lake. "Oh, you bleeding wanker! Sod off, will you! I'm trying to sleep!" the DI shouted at their retreating backs. "And I'm yelling at swans." he groaned in despair, propping himself up on his hands.

Mycroft shook his head with a chuckle. "When the serene moment is gone, it's really gone with you, isn't it?"

Lestrade smiled... and it was_ that _smile.

Purely on instinct, Mycroft leaned in and kissed him, surprising himself more than it did Lestrade.

Lestrade froze for a moment, shocked, before slowly melting into the kiss. "What was that for?" Lestrade gasped when they broke apart.

"A thank you, I suppose." Mycroft responded nervously, very, very conscious of how close their faces still were. "For saving my life." They were so close, Mycroft could taste Lestrade in the air and felt his warm breath on his hyper-sensitive lips.

"I seem to be doing that alot." Lestrade smiled back slowly, a little tense. "That must make you the damsel in distress." he tried to joke.

Mycroft pulled back several inches, gallantly giving the DI some breathing room. "I'm-... I'm sorry if I've made things awkward-..." The government agent swallowed thickly, a shade of red blossoming on his cheeks as he watched Lestrade raise a hand absently to the place Mycroft's lips were just a moment ago. "I didn't mean to-..." Lestrade's gaze leapt up at him, unreadable.

"Um, Mycroft-... I-..." Lestrade stammered over his own words.

"No-...no, don't..." Mycroft bit his lip, stomache churning. "No, sorry, you have something to say. I should listen." It was his obligation, Mycroft thought, kissing Lestrade would put their present working relationship into complete disarray and Mycroft needed to know where he stood with Lestrade now.

"It's... I don't know." Lestrade sighed, carding a hand through his hair, making it stick up every which way. "I-... I'm not - wasn't-" Lestrade didn't seem to be able to make up his mind. "... Not gay." he said finally.

Mycroft imagined, in his mind's eye, a nail being driven into a coffin. "Okay... I understand." He swallowed and moved to leave.

Lestrade's hand darted forward and latched onto Mycroft's sleeve, anchoring him into place. "No! No-... I meant - I mean, didn't mean...!" Lestrade released Mycroft's sleeve with a dispairing sigh as he dropped his face into his hands. "Ohh, this is really awkward."

Mycroft bit his lip, contemplating what to do now that Lestrade freed him of his grip. He could leave... run away, more prescisely. Take the coward's way out. But it really wouldn't be fair to Lestrade, who seemed to be alot more distressed by the situation than he was.

He sat back down and waited for Lestrade to continue. He'd never felt so vulnerable in his life. He vaguely wondered what possessed him with such an unhealthy interest in a liability... a straight man, no less! He tried to remind himself that this is why he never let people get under his skin. He never really learned how to distinguish complete trust from... love. Mycroft startled at the realization.

"I don't know, Mycroft, I'm not attracted to men, in particular. I mean, I've got a wife... divorced a wife, actually." Another nail was hammered loudly into Mycroft's imaginary coffin. Lestrade shook his head, grimacing. "Can't imagine kissing other men." Another nail, Mycroft just stared at his feet stretched out in front of him. "It's... different. It's new-... I'm not saying I'm against it, mind, just that I've never done it." Mycroft absently noted that the hammering of nails in his brain were exactly on beat to that of his heart in his ears.

The stress and utter embarrassment of the situation was just too much for Mycroft. "I get it, I do. Lets-... we don't have to mention it again." he said firmly to Lestrade.

Lestrade gaped at him. "No! I said, 'Can't imagine kissing other men', _stressing_ 'other men', Mycroft!" he exclaimed hastily. "Just-... I don't know, maybe it's just the one." he added, quieter. "What I'm trying to say is, I like you Mycroft, I do. Maybe, if I'm very honest with myself - which I haven't been, a little more than professionally. And I'm-... well I'm willing to try it out... if you're willing-..." Lestrade threw his hands up. "Sod this, I give up trying to explain!" He reached over and buried his fingers in the hair on the back of Mycroft's neck and pulled him in for another kiss.

It was like Lestrade had taken the lid of Mycroft's coffin and thrown it straight off its hinges and peered in, hollering 'Hello there!'

"Well," Mycroft gasped, stunned at the turn-out. "when you say it that way..." He felt Lestrade smile against his lips.

"I've got a horrible way with words." he hummed, shifting back to laying on the ground again.

"Oh, Sherlock will have a field day when he finds out." Mycroft sighed in apprehension, threading his fingers through Lestrade's short hair, eliciting an appreciative moan from the man.

Lestrade grunted his agreement and planted a chaste kiss on Mycroft's lips. "Then we're both rightly screwed, arn't we?" He smiled boyishly.

Mycroft laughed and snogged Lestrade hard. "Never more right."

Lestrade grinned and tackled Mycroft back to the ground, kissing him, ignoring the mud and rainwater soaking into their already wet suits and hair. Mycroft let his umbrella drop out of his grip to wrap both arms around Lestrade.

After all, England can look after herself for at least five minutes in Mycroft's absence, right?

The End


	20. Chapter 20

Epilogue, Sherlock and John POV

"If they simply took a moment to think about it, it would be obvious who was after the USB." Sherlock said to John as they watched Anthea and several more of Mycroft's minions bundle Hoover away in a vehicle. "Hoover was the lead investigator on the case in MI-5, he'd know about whatever was on the USB and he'd know the evidence was missing from the crime scene and would connect it to Lestrade who was leading the police investigation."

"He had men keeping an eye on Lestrade because of the threat on his life and would know his every move, when he'd get out of the hospital, when he wouldn't be at home. And, as Homeland Security collecting evidence from New Scotland Yard, he could've easily broken into Lestrade's office. Mycroft would've caught onto the fact that Hoover's actions were suspicious and not really protocol-material and he needed to be taken off the investigation team quickly. Again, Hoover was the only one who could make that decision. Really, it couldn't have been anyone _but_ him."

"But, really Sherlock! Was it necessary to crush the man's nose?" John was asking Sherlock when they happened to glance outside and catch sight of the two men by the lake. "Holy Mary!" he gaped blatantly.

Sherlock shot John a look. "Eloquent, John-... eloquent." He scowled at the sight. "It seems I've overestimated Mycroft's aversion to emotional bonds and physical contact. I'm always wrong about _something_ when it comes to Mycroft, damn him." Sherlock pouted.

"Oh, come on, Sherlock! At least be a little happy for them!" John smiled, steering Sherlock away from the window. "I think they'd make a smart couple."

"I'll never let Mycroft live it down. Oh, I can't wait for their first arguement." Sherlock smirked evily. "I've always heard it's the worst."

"I don't think it'd be too bad, they've been through worse." John shook his head. "You should've heard the arguement down at the Yard. I don't think I've ever heard Lestrade shout like that."

"And yet he still came simply because Mycroft was in danger?" Sherlock asked uncomprehendingly. "Why? I don't get it."

"If you and I had a fight like that, I wouldn't come to save you." John declared. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him. "Nope, probably would let you die." Sherlock maintained his gaze and John could feel his resolve crumbling. "Actually, I might come." he relented, Sherlock smiled. "_Might_ being the operative word."

Sherlock smirked at him confidently. "You'd come, John."

"Just as long as you keep the sodding body parts _out_ of the fridge!"


End file.
